


Never As Perfect As In My Head

by nyxocity



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-20
Updated: 2012-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:54:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 49,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyxocity/pseuds/nyxocity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of his most recent break-up, Jensen decides to swear off relationships for good and goes on vacation. Everything's going according to plan until his last night on the island, when the mysterious, gorgeous, built, hazel-eyed guy shows up and refuses to let Jensen turn him down. They agree to spend the evening basking in the romance of an island night together without hooking up, and it's <i>perfect</i>. When Jensen gets home, his friends can't believe he let this 'perfect date' get away, but Jensen's convinced it was only perfect because it was one night. Then, he starts seeing the guy around town. Is he imagining it, or is his perfect date really here in New York City? And if his perfect date <i>is</i> here, what is Jensen supposed to do about it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Premise of a 'perfect romantic first night' based on an episode of 'How I Met Your Mother', the rest based extremely loosely on the rest of the series, but you definitely don't have to watch the show to understand what's happening.

The day Eric breaks up with Jensen, it's a cold, rainy Saturday in April, the sky as gray as Jensen feels when he walks out the door of their—no, _his_ , now, again—apartment. He didn't bring an umbrella, much less anything else, and he could care less as the rain pours down, soaking through his clothes and chilling him to bone. He walks the three blocks it takes him to get to his regular bar, and sits down on a barstool, ordering himself a drink at 10AM as he drips water onto the hard wood floor.

Doug's behind the bar, the rest of the room empty at this hour of the day, and Doug arches a brow at Jensen, but he doesn't say anything. He just sets the bar rag aside and reaches up for a glass, setting it on the shiny wood and then pouring scotch into it.

"What do you think?" Jensen asks him, apropos of nothing.

Doug doesn't ask for a frame of reference or blink or even hesitate. 

"I think it's all bullshit and a pack of lies," he says, sliding the glass across the bar to Jensen.

"Yeah. That's what I think, too," Jensen says after a moment, and then nods, tilting up his glass.

"You okay, Jensen?"

He isn't really sure how to answer that. He's angry right now, sure, a little bit hurt, but not nearly as hurt as he'd have expected to be. He guesses some part of him knew this was coming. They'd been fighting a lot the last few months—over money, sex, breakfast, toilet paper, you name it—and even Jensen had been well on his way to thinking they should probably end things.

"Me and Eric broke up," he answers.

"Oh shit, man. I knew it wasn't anything good when you walked in here looking like you needed a drink, but… I'm so sorry." Doug's face creases in a sympathetic frown, and Jensen knows he means it. Doug's known Jensen for years, and Eric, too, since he and Eric started dating. Doug's seen quite a few guys come in and go out of Jensen's life—some of them right here in this bar. 

"When?" Doug asks after a moment.

"About twenty minutes ago." It feels like it happened years ago, though, despite his slowly ebbing anger.

"Shit, Jensen. Are you okay?"

Jensen purses his lips and looks at his glass, thinking about the first time he'd kissed Eric, the way it had been raining like it is today, the way they'd laughed and hadn't cared how wet they were getting in between making out like teenagers. The day Eric had moved into his place, and he'd shown up with a horrifically scarred, mustard-colored stuffed chair he'd just found on the street corner, beaming like he'd just won the lottery and Jensen hadn't been able to do anything except bite his tongue, shake his head and smile. The sound of shattering glass from this morning when Eric had spun around too fast, catching Jensen's juice with his elbow and sending it to the floor, the way Jensen thought about how it was the last glass of the set he'd bought before Eric had moved in. 

He has a lot of memories, specific moments in time that are devoted to Eric Masterson. Digging back further, he has more that are devoted to Robert Porter, Jamie Green, Kenny Randall, Gerald Davis, Chance Carter, Ryan Bailey. They've all come and gone, too.

"You know what?" he says. "I think I am."

 

*

 

Doug doesn't buy it, and Jensen doesn't blame him—it's not like Jensen's ever been okay after a break-up in the history of ever. Likewise, Jensen isn't surprised when Danny shows up twenty minutes later, knowing full well Doug called her and told her what happened the second he got away from Jensen.

She slides onto the stool next to him, her oversized bag embroidered with beads and dripping with fringe flopped carelessly onto the bar. She swings her red hair over one shoulder and presses one hand with perfectly manicured nails against the side of her head to keep it back as she leans her elbow on the bar, tilting her face so she can look up at Jensen.

"Tell me what happened."

There's not much to tell. They'd gotten into a fight over Eric using the last of the eggs the day before and not bothering to tell Jensen they were out. Jensen had gotten pissed because he'd woken up wanting an omelet and found no eggs. And it was just like Eric to use the last of something and not replace it or tell Jensen, because Eric was a selfish, thoughtless, inconsiderate _asshole_ , and Jensen was so sick of his shit—which is pretty much what Jensen had said, verbatim. They'd fought for a while, and then Eric had spun around and broken Jensen's last juice glass, and that seemed to be the breaking point. Eric had stopped then, stopped being angry, stopped arguing, stopped pretending to give a fuck, and told Jensen he was moving out.

"Can I crash at your place for a couple of days while he gets his stuff out?" Jensen asks when he's done telling the story.

Danny's just looking at him, like she can't believe _that's_ what he's thinking about. "You know you can. Jensen…" she leans down more against the bar, hair pushing up in a tangle between her fingers. "You're acting weird."

"I feel fine," he protests, swallowing down the last of his scotch.

"You _seem_ fine," Danneel says, her eyes narrowing on him suspiciously. "That's why I'm worried."

"Maybe I _am_ fine," he shrugs. "It's not like we didn't all know this was coming, right?"

Danny's eyes narrow on him even harder, until he can barely see the color of her eyes through the slits, and then she sits up, eyes opening wide as she takes a surprised breath.

"You're trying to _pretend_ you're fine," she says, eyes lighting up like she's onto him. "This is like that time with Kenny, when you were all 'no, I'm fine, really' and then we found you in the back alley behind the bar, passed out, cuddling with a steering wheel." She pauses, frowning. "Did you ever figure out where that came from?"

"I have no memory of that night," Jensen tells her quickly and glances away.

"Don't try and change the subject," she says, poking him the shoulder, apparently forgetting that she'd been the one to ask him.

The door to the bar opens then, and they both turn.

"How we doing?" Misha says as he walks inside, shaking rainwater from his yellow umbrella.

"Jensen's avoiding," Danny answers like she's triumphantly tattling on Jensen.

"I am _not_ avoiding."

"Of course you're not," Misha says as he walks up beside Jensen and slings an arm around his shoulders. With his other hand, he pushes Jensen's face against his shoulder and holds him there, murmuring, "It's okay buddy, just let it all out."

Jensen rolls his eyes up at Misha, and then yanks his face away from where it's smashed against Misha's designer shirt.

"I'm fine," he insists, glaring at Misha. But Misha had been willing to let Jensen cry on his shirt that likely cost hundreds of dollars, and Jensen knows that, for Misha, that's a pretty big gesture of sympathy, so Jensen's annoyance doesn't last very long.

"I really am, okay, guys. Can we just drop this?"

"No, we cannot just drop this," Danny says, sitting up straight and putting her hands against the bar, eyes narrowing again on Jensen. "The last time you avoided relationship fallout, your face ended up glued by tears to the chrome spokes of a steering wheel."

"I wasn't crying," Jensen says, exasperated. "It was just… really cold that night."

"I thought you had no memory of that night?" she challenges.

"I don't," he says almost before she's finished talking. "But I still wasn't crying."

"Do you know how many hours it took me to peel that thing off your face without taking skin with it?"

"Two. A number that," he adds, meaningfully, "when multiplied by twenty, is approximately how many times I've heard that story."

"I see what you're doing," she says, poking him in the chest this time. "Avoider."

"I'm really not avoiding, Danny. I…" Jensen pauses, tries to put it into words. "For the first time in a long time… I feel okay. Like, really, _really_ okay."

"See?" Misha says, looking at Danny. "He's fine." Misha turns his head toward Jensen and says in less than conspiratorial tones, "So, you and me at _The Wet Spot_ tonight? It'll be just like old times; I'll hook you up with all the gay guys, and you can hook me up with all the girls."

'Old times' being the span of a few weeks between Jensen's steady run of long-term relationships, Misha's being generous—or more like ridiculous, which is pretty par for course.

"He is _not_ going to a strip club," Danny tells Misha, her expression beginning to edge into 'glare of death' territory, and Misha lets go of Jensen's shoulder, backs up a step.

"I'm not going to a strip club," Jensen says, seeing the tension ease in Danny. Misha though, mostly just looks at him like Jensen's abandoned him to the wolves.

"Why not?" asks a female voice from behind them. "A male strip club sounds like the perfect antidote."

Jensen isn't sure how Genevieve got inside without them noticing, but there she is, standing next to Misha and smiling.

"If Jensen's not in, I am—but I get the bi girls."

"Done," Misha agrees. "But if it works out for you," he adds, "can I—"

"No," Genevieve cuts him off, still smiling.

"Dammit," Misha hisses.

That's when Chris walks in, taking up the barstool behind Danneel, leaning his chin against her shoulder as he looks at Jensen. 

"So. Pitcher of beer and then the ritual burning of things?" he asks.

"I gave him three days to move out," Jensen replies, smirking. "We'll burn whatever's left after that."

"So just the beer, then?" 

"For now."

"Jensen's avoiding," Danneel tells Chris.

"I'll peel the steering wheel off his face this time, baby."

"But…"

"Just let him do his thing."

 

*

 

"Jensen," Danny says, handing him back the cigarette they're sharing, smoke blown out against the rainy day, misting on the cold air.

Jensen can hear everything she's about to say, knows exactly what she's going to tell him—knows damned well after seven years of knowing her.

"I’m okay, Danny. I am."

"You're not."

"No. For the first time, I think I really am," he says. "This whole thing… believing there's someone out there that's perfect? No one's ever perfect. I'm never going to find anyone that really gets me; that thinks I'm as perfect for them as they are for me. That's never going to happen."

"It can happen, though," Danny says, like she's imploring him to believe.

"You and Chris make up the one percent of the world's population that are perfect for each other. You got lucky. The rest of us? We just don't have those odds." 

He takes a drag off the cigarette in his hand, and they've both had too much to drink—they've ALL had too much to drink, for this hour of the day—but still, he feels the truth of it.

"I'm never going to find that perfect person, Danny. And that's okay. It’s really okay. I’ll take the moment, and hook up when I need to. Hell, maybe someone will even be okay with being in a pseudo, no strings relationship for a while. That'd be cool. But there's no happy ending for me."

"Jensen." Danneel puts out the cigarette beneath her heel, hand rising to rest on Jensen's arm, and Jensen doesn't want her pity, because this isn't about pity. This is about realizing, and understanding the truth.

"I loved him," Jensen says. "There were times… I thought he might be the one. But I thought that about other people, too. I've gone from relationship to relationship barely stopping to breathe, because I was so busy looking for the perfect person. And I… I need to stop looking for 'the one'. That's not going to happen for me."

"It _could_."

"It could," Jensen grudgingly agrees, "but it's not likely. And I'm not chasing it anymore."

"Oh Jen. Jenny boy," she says pressing her hand against his face, "You really think you're done, don't you?

"I know I'm done."

"When you stop chasing it…" she smiles, dropping the cigarette on the asphalt and stepping on it, "that's when it happens."

Jensen snorts, shaking his head. "Yeah, that's another one of those bullshit things people tell you to make you feel better."

Danny just smiles.

 

*

 

On the fourth day, they burn everything Eric left behind in the metal garbage can behind Jensen's apartment. 

"So that’s it," Jensen says, and all of his friends nod.

"I never liked him," Misha says a moment later. "So, 'The Wet Spot' tonight?" he asks Jensen.

Jensen could care less about 'The Wet Spot', but he's grateful for Misha's… support in letting Eric go? It's something, anyway.

"No. You guys go celebrate. I'm just gonna go to bed." Jensen knows, logically, that getting laid would give him at least a couple hours of not thinking about things. But he's never been good at 'just getting laid'. That usually results in him ending up in a relationship that's totally wrong for him. And he's done with that.

He's done with relationships in pretty much every sense.

 

*

 

The apartment seems empty without Eric's stuff filling up half of it, and everywhere he looks, he can see Eric—lounging on the couch, his bare feet sticking up from the arm as he reads on his laptop; the way he'd always slept in bed, pillow shoved under his stomach, ass pushed up and out underneath the sheets, light blue cotton clinging to the shape, muscular arms wrapped around the pillow beneath his head, hair white-blond and glowing in the moonlight. Leaning against the counter in the kitchen, bent over a cutting board on the same counter, chopping onions like he has to dice them perfectly or else the world might end.

He's in Jensen's shower, running his hands through his wet hair, rinsing away his shampoo before he grins and grabs Jensen by the hips, pushing him up against the cold tile. Digging around in the refrigerator at ungodly hours of the night, laughing at Jensen across the dining room table, laughing _with_ Jensen as they watch sitcoms on TV.

He's here, in every nook and cranny, every pore and every piece of furniture. Eric is right here, around every corner Jensen turns and the ones he doesn't.

It's not that he misses Eric, not exactly. He does, but not the way he probably should. It's more that this place that used to be just Jensen's became 'theirs' and now it's impossible to go back to the way things were. In his head, this apartment is always going to be about him and Eric. It’s always going to be about relationships and trying. It’s going to be about him trying and failing.

He needs a new apartment. But that's not really something he wants to spend time doing.

He decides to take a vacation instead.

 

~ * ~ * ~

 

Mexico isn't like anything he's ever known. It's nothing like New York; the pace so laid back, beaches so close, everyone so friendly, except for the taxi drivers that want to rip you off as much as possible, and fuck you very much, taxi driver that stranded him at this ferry instead of the one he was supposed to be driven to. It’s going to take him a whole hour to get to the island he's headed for instead of half an hour.

As he sits down in an open air bar and restaurant right on the edge of the Caribbean, he looks out at the view and can't really find it inside himself to be angry. It’s all white sands and cerulean water, everyone within sight as happy as clams, although he's never been sure why clams are supposed to be happy. People either want to eat their insides or kill them for their pearls. Really, what's there to be happy about?

He orders a cheeseburger and settles more comfortably into his seat, taking off his sunglasses. It's incredibly bright out there, beyond the ceiling of the restaurant. A couple hundred feet away, there's a wooden frame, a tower built up alongside the docks, and it's got to be at least five stories high. From somewhere in the vicinity of its base, Coldplay is being blasted through huge speakers across the beach.

_Come up to meet you,_  
Tell you I'm sorry,  
You don't know how lovely you are. 

_I had to find you,_  
Tell you I need you,  
Tell you I set you apart. 

It's midday in Mexico, on the beach—there are children playing in the shallows of the water, men and women laughing and splashing. They couldn't play something more upbeat?

_Tell me your secrets,_  
And ask me your questions,  
Oh let's go back to the start. 

_Runnin' in circles,_  
Comin' up tails,  
Heads on a science apart. 

Jensen rolls his eyes and bites into his cheeseburger, way more interested when some guy starts to talk across the microphone over the music. As it turns out, this tower actually has a purpose in that people can bungee jump from the top head first.

_Nobody said it was easy,_  
It's such a shame for us to part.  
Nobody said it was easy,  
No one ever said it would be this hard.  
Oh take me back to the start. 

He's in Mexico, he's on vacation, and he's Eric–free for the first time in two years. He's partner-free for the first time in longer than he can remember. He can do whatever he wants. And he can do it for thirty pesos.

Jumping off the top of that tower sounds like a great idea.

 

*

 

At the top, the guy that hooks him into the bungee cord explains to him how it's done; he even offers to push Jensen off the edge, if Jensen wants.

He doesn't want that. He doesn't even look down as he steps to the edge of the platform and raises his arms, pushing off with his feet and diving into nothingness.

Wind and empty air rushing by, and it's like flying for a few seconds, everything so terrifying and _free_.

When he hits the water with his hands, he curls his legs and arches up into the recoil, laughing.

 

*

 

The cord is barely off his ankle when the ferry arrives, and he has to run to grab his bags and get on it in time.

He meets Derek on the ferry over to the island. Derek is from Seattle, and a total hippie with his dreads and all his talk about 'realness' and truth. Jensen tells the guy a few things about the truth, but Derek obviously isn't looking for _those_ kind of truths.

"You're jaded," Derek says after a while.

"Maybe a little bit," Jensen nods, agreeing. "Or maybe just clued in to how things really are."

Derek laces his fingers together and nods in response. He obviously doesn't agree, despite the nodding of his head, and that's okay. Derek just hasn't figured it out yet.

 

*

When he steps off the ferry and gets his first look at the island, he can't help smiling. There are people sitting at the nearby bar, eating at tables that edge almost to the shoreline, but it isn't crowded or noisy and it seems mostly free of tourists. Islas Mujeres is the exact opposite of Cancun, with its small town feel and modest buildings, and it's exactly what he wants. He's never been on vacation alone before, and he's never been somewhere like this—the kind of place he can go be alone on a stretch of beach for hours.

 

*

The first thing he does is wade into the Caribbean. Only knee high, below the level of his shorts, and it's so warm and perfect that's it's almost sweet.

He walks after that, rents a room at a place called the Seahorse that's a block's walk away from the beach and so inexpensive that he can barely believe it. He gets a room that feels more like home than hotel-like, with a mini-fridge and a hotplate and a window over the kitchen sink, which has a dish drainer next to it that holds a couple of ceramic bowls and forks.

He spends the majority of his week sitting on the sand when he's not snorkeling, paddle-boarding or exploring the cliffs on the far side of the island. There, amongst the hundreds of shells and flip-flops cast off by the sea, he finds a big conch shell that's worn down with time and sea, its surface pocked and pitted, the crown of it mostly gone, bone white except for the faded pink color that clings to the opening, the blue that runs along the top. It's nothing like the shiny pink and brown conches he's seen for sale a million times, a million places. 

Despite the dozens of more beautiful conch shells to choose from on the beach, he takes that one with him when he leaves.

He cooks for himself in the room and learns pretty quickly that hotplates are really fucking hard to cook on, no matter how much butter you use. He goes out for food after that, most of the time eating while he's sitting no less than twenty feet from the shore, waves lapping gently at the edge.

Sunrise and sunset are magnificent, sky mostly cloudless at those times, gold and pink glittering across the waves that span the curvature of the earth, so wide open that he can actually _see_ the curve on either side of the ocean.

He's barely spoken to anyone other than the hotel owners or people trying to sell him things.

It's glorious.

 

*

Six days pass in uninterrupted enjoyment, and then, on the sixth day, just as the sun is sinking below the horizon in a blaze of gold and pink, his phone rings. He's only surprised that it's not Danny, but Misha that's calling him.

"Dude," he says as he answers the phone. "I'm in Mexico. What?"

"You didn’t answer the phone in the middle of sex, did you?" Misha asks. "Because that's _bad_ , Jensen."

"I'm not having sex, Misha," Jensen sighs. "You're interrupting my sunset, though."

"With a hot guy? So you’re lining up for the kill. Sunsets are a great strategy; romantics go for them like you wouldn't believe."

"I'm _alone_ ," Jensen says rolling his eyes. "I've been alone the whole time."

There's a long pause before Misha responds.

"Jensen, you've been there for six days. You're telling me you still haven't managed to get laid? I've been there; it's a veritable pornucopia. Everybody's drunk and having a blast and consistently about three seconds away from taking off all their clothes. It's like you're not even _trying_."

"I didn't come here to get laid."

"So you're telling me," Misha says, like he's not really sure, "when you said you were going on vacation… that wasn't code for 'Thank fuck Eric dumped me so I can go have as much meaningless sex with as many people as possible in the party capital of the world?'"

"I didn't come here to have sex, Misha."

"What?" Misha sounds aghast, like he can't believe it. "There were words coming out of your mouth, but they didn't make any sense. It's like we're not even speaking the same language."

"It's like we're not even part of the same species," Jensen replies, tone dry as he digs his toes into the sand.

"I'm sorry. I must have accidentally dialed the number to 'Bitter Dumpees Wasting Their Vacation on Moping and Being Miserable' by mistake."

"I am not _moping_."

"I meant to call 'Newly Single Guys Partying Drunk and Naked on the Beach in Between Orgies and Not Moping".

"I am _not_ moping," Jensen insists.

"Then live a little, Jensen. You're in fucking Cancun, for fuck's sake. Don't waste it."

He's not in Cancun, exactly, but he guesses it's close enough for Misha's head geography. "I'm living just fine."

Misha sighs. "Okay. When you're ready to start having fun, I'll be over here manning the 'Eric Was an Asshole, Anyway' hotline."

"I think I've got that number," Jensen smirks.

"You damned well better," Misha says, before he hangs up.

Jensen shakes his head, still smirking, and then sets the phone down on top of his shirt lying beside him on the sand.

He reaches back with both hands, fingers digging into fine sand, finding the coolness beneath the surface, and leans his weight against them, head tilting back to look up at the sky. It's huge, clear, and bright blue, a single smear of clouds spread across it like an errant paintbrush stroke. He likes it here… the vastness of ocean and open air and sky all around him, the sense of being _alone_ , like he's the only person on earth. 

He's not moping. Coming here might have originally been about getting away from the constant reminders of failed relationships, but it's not that anymore. Misha would never understand—then again, Misha rarely understands anything that isn't about getting laid.

He doesn't need to get laid. He just needs this. 

'Alone' is easier than anything else he's ever done in his life.

 

*

 

He spends the next day, his last one on the island, snorkeling and realizing how familiar all the fish are by now; despite that, he still loves them. He sits on the sand afterward, watching everyone else on the beach splash and laugh, the sun setting behind them in a cloudless explosion of color.

It's the perfect end to his last day, he decides. He doesn’t need any more than this. 

But he's still got time, as night descends on the beach, and he walks up to the bar that's been waiting on him all day, taking a seat at an empty table. He hasn't had dinner, but maybe one more drink as he stares out at the Caribbean—a last goodbye.

He orders a mojito, caught up in the way the waves break along the shore before the waiter delivers his drink to him.

He remembers where he is, then, and glances around the open air room.

There's a guy staring at him, sitting at the bar, sipping from the straw in his drink as he gives Jensen the serious _eye_. The kind that says I want to take you back to my hotel room and do incredibly dirty things to you all night long.

And well, Jensen would be lying if he said he'd never seen that look before, but he's never seen it from someone as hot as this guy. Longish dark hair, cut so layers fall just across his perfect cheekbones on both sides, and Jensen can't tell the color of his eyes in this light, but they glitter as they stare him. Jesus, he's tall—Jensen can tell even while he's sitting down that he'd be taller than Jensen. He's wearing a thin, short-sleeved button down beach shirt that's pure white, clinging to his completely built frame and showing off miles of tanned arms. This guy is certifiably drop-dead _gorgeous_ , and he's looking straight at Jensen, like no one else in the world exists, smile playing around his lips.

It's his last night of vacation, and if he was going to hook up with anyone with no strings attached, this guy wouldn't even be on the list because the list doesn't account for guys this fucking hot. This guy would get a page all to himself, lists be damned.

But he's not doing that anymore, he thinks, looking away. It's a little bit hard to remember _why_ he's not doing that, with a couple drinks in him and a guy who looks like sex poured into human form staring at him. 

When he glances up again, the guy is sitting down across the table from him, frothy drink in a fragile glass with a pink umbrella clasped between his massive hands, straw poking up in the open air.

"You should know," Jensen says, trying his best to look the guy right in the face. "I'm not looking to hook up."

"That's a shame," the guy says evenly, a glint of playfulness in his eyes as he smiles, "because you'd really be missing out." Jensen can almost believe he's right. "But who said I'm looking for a hook up?" the guy goes on, lips pulling back in an easy grin. Jensen can't help but notice how pink his lips are against the brilliant white perfection of his teeth.

"Your eyes," Jensen answers, smiling back just a little.

"Really? You can read minds just by looking into people's eyes?" the guys asks, still smiling. He straightens a little bit in his chair and squares his shoulders, looking at Jensen full on with a straight face. "So what am I thinking right now?"

Jensen squints at him, smile playing at the edges of his mouth as he pretends to try and figure it out. "You're… thinking there's no way I can read your mind just by looking at you," Jensen guesses.

"Wrong," the guy grins. "I was thinking how cute it is, the way your eyes crinkle at the edges when you almost smile. I bet it's even cuter when you laugh."

Jensen's amused and maybe a little bit flattered—and okay, sort of intrigued. "Really? My eyes? That's pretty good detail work for someone who was eyeing me a few minutes ago like they'd like to do things to me I could never tell anyone about."

The guy bites at his plush lower lip and kind of half-laughs, looking just the slightest bit embarrassed—just enough to make him really endearing. "Kind of the other way around," he says pausing before he adds, "maybe both," as he grins and finishes by spreading his hands out open and palm up. "Guilty. I was thinking along those lines originally, but seriously, look at you. Who wouldn't be thinking it?"

Jensen gives him a skeptical look, but the guy seems determined to ignore it.

"Besides, look at me," the guy goes on, still grinning as he motions toward himself and half-flexes his arms. "You're telling me you weren't thinking about it even a little bit?"

Jensen just smirks at him, because seriously.

"Tough crowd," the guy says, good-naturedly, and then settles back, putting his hands around his drink before he looks at Jensen again. "Really," he says, looking Jensen right in the eye, "I'd settle for getting to know you a little better."

He's got a look in his eyes like maybe he does think Jensen's really interesting, interesting enough to get to know better even if they don't hook up—like Jensen is the only person on the face of the planet right now. And Jensen has to admit, he kind of likes this incredibly hot guy, despite his recent giving up on relationships and deciding to have a celibate vacation. But he has to be truthful.

"Look, these moments, the ones you have when you first meet someone, they're incredibly romantic. You see someone across the room, and there's a spark. Everything's romantic in the beginning. But then the next day happens, and the next, and eventually you realize you were just blinded by hormones and what the fuck are you even doing here?"

"Hmm. Been there," the guy nods, his delectable fucking mouth pursing thoughtfully, fringes of his hair brushing against his cheeks. He leans forward, eyes intent on Jensen. "Okay. I have an idea—a compromise. We're both obviously on vacation, I leave tomorrow night; we're never going to see each other again. So let's do the romantic, first spark thing."

Jensen's interested as he leans across his drink toward the guy."Intriguing. Tell me more." 

"We don’t hook up—no sex—"

Not as intriguing, Jensen thinks, despite himself.

"We just have that night where we meet on vacation in an amazing place, and everything's perfect, without the next day to mess it up. Let's have a great time. And when it's over, we go back to our lives, and we'll never even know each other's real names—no phone numbers or email exchanged."

"Well," Jensen says, thinking that over, halfway to thinking these are acceptable terms, "I'd have to call you _something_."

"Chad," the guy says, smiling. "And you're?"

"Misha," is the first name that pops out of his mouth, and he didn't really mean for it to, but there it is.

"So, Misha," the guy says, still smiling, as he reaches across the table with one of his massive hands, fingers closing around Jensen's wrist, and they're more gentle than Jensen would have expected, thumb rubbing against the sensitive underside. "Wanna go for a walk on the beach?"

 

*

 

'Chad' is a completely, totally romantic _dork_ , Jensen decides, two minutes into their walk, the guy's fingers laced through his beneath the moonlight, telling Jensen how he came to the island to do exactly this—just walk along the beach look up at the night sky without a single thing in the way.

Except… that's kind of why Jensen came here, too. To be in this wide open space without anything or anyone in the way. 

"Bad break up?" Jensen has to ask.

"Last time I was here, yeah. But not this time."

"So why, this time?"

'Chad' hesitates, half-shrugging. "It felt good, being here. Like finding peace. I came back for that."

Jensen side eyes him across the sand. "Okay, you know you sound like a total cheeseball, right?

"Guilty," the guys admits, and laughs, and it's deep, resonating sound . "It’s half my charm, really," he says, glancing over at Jensen.

"Yeah, really not," Jensen returns, trying hard to keep from smiling.

"It's my involuntary charm," the guy admits, stopping their walk as he turns and grins at Jensen, and Jesus, he's even more gorgeous when he smiles like that. "If I _really_ wanted to turn my full charm on you, you'd know it."

"Really?" Jensen asks, unable to keep the smirk from his lips.

"The whole island would know it," he says, still grinning. 

"I'm not convinced," Jensen says, grinning back.

"You will be," the guy tells him in mock-seriousness, pausing before he goes on. "You will be."

God, he's a Star Wars geek, too, on top of everything else. Jensen could almost kiss him here and now. Instead Jensen arches a skeptical eyebrow at the guy and says, "Okay, Yoda. Impress me."

"Star Wars fan. I knew it. I knew you'd be awesome, the second I laid eyes on you." The guy leans in close, grinning at Jensen, and Jensen can see his eyes in the moonlight, hazel, or maybe brown, he can't tell and he doesn't care, because the guy is giving Jensen that look again, like Jensen's the only thing that exists. He smells _good_ , mild scent of cologne clinging to him beyond the smells of ocean, sand and sunscreen, the faint, salty tang of musky sweat. And Jensen had been mostly kidding when he'd thought he could kiss the guy here and now, but suddenly he's not kidding anymore.

"You know you really are gorgeous," the guy goes on, thumb soft heat against Jensen's lower lip. "You're the most gorgeous guy I've ever seen. The fact that you're a geek, too, just makes you even hotter. And I barely even know you, yet."

Jesus, Jensen feels like the guy's eyes are burning right through him.

"I'm _really_ looking forward to getting to know you better," the guys whispers meaningfully, and Jensen can feel his breath, warm as it ghosts against Jensen's lips. "And we've got all night."

"What do you want to know?" Jensen asks, breath catching in his throat.

"Anything you want to tell me."

"This is the full force of your charm?" Jensen manages to ask, and he means for it to come out funny, maybe the slightest bit sarcastic, but he's not really able to conjure much besides the words and remembering how to be able to speak them.

"Impressed, yet?" the guy asks, breaking into one of his gorgeous smiles, but he doesn't break the look between them, or the intensity or the _sincerity_ of it, and Jensen really needs to be able to _breathe_. 

"It's a little much," Jensen says, backing off a step and pulling in a breath.

"Yeah," the guy nods, still smiling, though it's half-apologetic, now, and there's… something else lurking at the edges of it. "I get that a lot."

The guy tightens his fingers through Jensen's, seeming to recover as he grins. "Hey, you wanted to see full-force charm. I warned you."

"You did," Jensen agrees, letting the guy pull him across the sand as they begin to walk again. "I didn't expect it to be so cheesy-romantic." And it's not really cheesy at all, but it's all Jensen's got at the moment to make himself stop feeling so… whatever he's feeling.

"Cheesy-romantic?" the guy demands, mock-offended, and Jensen can't help but laugh. "I'll have you know, better men than you have _adored_ my cheesy-romantic affections."

"Better men?" Jensen returns, just as mock-offended.

"I said better. Not prettier. And well, better is still up for debate," the guy says, shooting Jensen a look underneath the fringe of his side bangs.

"Determined by what criteria?" Jensen asks.

The guy seems to think about that for a moment, walking silently alongside Jensen, hand in hand along the beach. "For starters… the prequel trilogy of Star Wars movies versus the original trilogy?"

"You're kidding, right?" Jensen says, returning the guy's sideways look. "When I'm so bored I'm about to nod off, I define it as 'Episode I' bored."

Jensen can see him smile. "Wow. You really _are_ a geek."

"I thought you liked that?"

"Oh, I do," the guys says in all seriousness. "I was just taking a moment to appreciate it. But right now, I'm more interested in knowing… when are you ever that bored?"

That's a more difficult question, and it takes Jensen a moment to answer. "During long meetings, definitely. While reading incredibly horrible novels. While watching really bad movies. And I used to get really bored when I was alone, because I didn't know what to do with myself."

"But not anymore?" the guy asks.

"No. Not anymore. Although being around someone is still pretty cool," he allows, smirking. "On occasion."

"I'm honored," the guy says, grinning. 

"I didn't say this was one of those occasions," Jensen adds, because he really just can't help himself. This guy is too cute not to prod.

The guy doesn't disappoint him.

"Then let's make it one."

 

*

 

'Chad' veers them off the beach when they get near the main street of the town, takes him down the merchant and restaurant row, stopping to admire the handmade stuffed animals that look less like stuffed animals because they're mostly made out of felt and fur and maybe some kind of plastic structure on the inside. They look serious and real, those monkeys and llamas and dolphins and sea turtles and more, and sometimes they're delightfully colorful, despite that they look more like the real deal than a plushy, stuffed cute replica.

The guy buys a llama that's as realistic as can be except that its facial expression is almost demon-like, stitched in orange against its black fur, and the guy seems to delight in the fact that it isn't at all reassuring. He also buys a sea turtle with a felt replica of planet earth stitched across its shell, colors muted except for the red thread that holds it together, olive, green, brown and dark blue tones. After he pays for them, he hands the sea turtle to Jensen, and Jensen wants to ask why, but he doesn't, because this isn't supposed to be about the 'why'. 

For reasons unknown to Jensen, the guy decides to name his llama 'Willy" which seems fine until the guy adds that it's short for Wilhelmina.

"Wilhelmenia?" Jensen asks in disbelief.

"It fits her," the guy shrugs. "What's yours?"

Jensen looks at the turtle in his hand. "So because you’re a huge dorktastic cheeseball who names his stuffed animals, I have to name mine, too?"

"My dorktastic cheeseball-ness is already growing on you like mold, admit it," the guy says, grinning. "So what's yours' name?"

Jensen thinks for a minute before he answers. "I'll let you know when I decide."

They have dinner at one of the restaurants that has fresh steak and seafood set out in ice in front of its open air entry to lure people in. Both of them order steak and lobster tail, and it's the freshest damned lobster tail Jensen's ever eaten, not to mention the steak is cooked perfectly. 'Chad' has a pina colada with his meal, practically moaning about how good it is since it's made with fresh coconut milk, so Jensen orders one, too. The size of it is only slightly ridiculous in his hands, as compared to how it's not ridiculous at all in the other guy's. They talk about the island, their experiences while they've been here, and seemingly inevitably somehow end up in a discussion about Midichlorians, which leads to a discussion about The Matrix, and then every single Alien movie—and they both agree Alien 3 was way ahead of its time, which, is the first time Jensen's ever encountered someone else who thought so.

By the time they're winding down on dinner, waiting for dessert, they've switched to more personal topics. 

"Professional masseuse," Jensen guesses.

"No," the guy smiles, "although I am pretty good with my hands," he adds, winking at Jensen, and it's damned adorable and also ridiculous, and Jensen has to laugh.

"Fine," the guy says, and rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "My turn." He squints at Jensen with eyes that are definitely hazel in the light of the restaurant. "Male model."

Jensen almost chokes on his drink with laughter.

"Hey, I had to give that one a shot. You've got the looks for it," the guy says, unapologetic. "And it increases what I know about you so far."

"You don't know anything about me," Jensen scoffs, picking up his pina colada and drinking the last melted bit.

The guy moves his glass out of the way, puts both elbows on the table and leans across them toward Jensen, intently focused on him.

"You're incredibly gorgeous, you're not into hooking up, and you don't like relationships right now because you went through a recent break-up. But you still like romance, or you wouldn't be here with me. You don't have any calluses on your hands, but you weren't born into money, because, well, your shoes, which means you've got a white collar job. Your accent is that in-between southern and northern East Coast accent, so… Virginia? Maryland? Originally? Somewhere around that area. You seem like you're really content, but you've still got a curiosity about things. You don't ask half the questions that go through your head, or say half the things you think about saying either because you're naturally cautious with new people or you're more cautious with new people after your last break-up. How am I doing so far?"

"A little too well," Jensen admits, wondering just how the hell this guy figured all that out in such a short span of time. And also, what's wrong with his shoes.

"Oh, and your name's not really Misha," the guy grins.

Jensen just stares at him, because, really?

"You also do this really hot thing with your mouth whenever you're amused and trying not to show it—which you do a lot around me," the guy smirks, looking way too satisfied with himself.

Dammit, Jensen thinks, and tries to school his mouth into an expressionless line.

"Yeah, like that," the guy says, still smirking as he points at Jensen's mouth.

"Psychologist," Jensen guesses, trying to change the subject, or at least deflect the guy's scrutinizing attention.

"Nope."

"Sociologist?"

"No."

"Let's see…" Jensen says, pulling his thoughts together. What does he know about this guy, besides that he's beyond gorgeous? He thinks for a minute or two and realizes he knows more than he thought he did, now that he's really thinking about it. 

"You're charming, obviously single and comfortable with hitting on guys even when they shoot you down. You're persistent, in that you don't even let _that_ deter you, or else we wouldn't be here. You're adventurous, and playful, and would probably tell anybody anything if you weren't on a date with someone who isn't supposed to know details about you. You've got a hint of a drawl, which means you're probably from Texas somewhere. You don't have any calluses on _your_ hands, so you've probably got a white collar job." 

He hesitates, looking at the guy's clothes. He might know jack about shoes, but he knows quality clothes when he sees them—he knows Misha after all—and this guy is not wearing expensive clothing. "Your clothes rule out you being rich, so definitely a white collar job. You pay scary, stalker-ish attention to people's personality traits and freak them out by logging them and reciting them back to them when challenged—which means you also clearly love a challenge. As if pursuing me even after I shot you down didn't already prove that. How am I doing so far?"

"Better than I expected," the guy says, looking impressed and… something else Jensen can't quite figure out.

"You're also possibly the world's most dorktastic romantic, you love everything in the world, and you love to talk about it all." Jensen thinks, turning his empty glass back and forth between his hands.

"Aspiring writer," he says. "No," he amends, holding up one hand and snapping his fingers. "An aspiring _romance_ novel writer."

The guy gives him a weird, disbelieving look, and Jensen's completely deflated by it. "Yeah," he admits, "that was a little bit of a jump."

"No, it was a good guess," the guy says, like he's trying to soften the blow. The corner of his mouth curls, one hand coming up to rest underneath his chin as he considers Jensen. "So you're an ex-romance novel writer?" 

"Just an avid reader of the genre," Jensen admits, and that's true insofar as it goes.

"I've dabbled in a bit of romance reading myself," the guy admits.

They're interrupted then by their waiter putting a plate of fresh, fried banana slices on the table between them. Jensen says _gracias_ and the man excuses himself with a nod. They both take up their forks, digging into the plate.

"The thing I don't like about most romance novels," the guys says, spearing a few banana slices on his fork, "is that everything in them seems so fantastical. There's not a bit of realism in them. The characters are flat, or when they do have a trait, it's like, this one, singular trait that defines their whole being. They don't have facets."

"Tell me about it," Jensen agrees, and the pushes a forkful of bananas into his mouth before he can say anything else.

"Dumbed-down for the general populace by the suits in charge at the publishers. I hate that about the world. It's not about what's _good_ so much as it's about…" the guy pauses, bananas suspended on the edge of his fork in mid-air.

"What sells," Jensen finishes after he swallows.

"Yeah," the guy nods, looking at Jensen with that look like Jensen's the only person in the world.

Right.

"And then it's like, they get together and everything is _perfect_ , and that never happens in real life."

"No," the guys agrees. "Real life is messy. Although sometimes it's nice to read a happily ever after, even knowing that. I guess that's why I keep going back to them."

And now it's Jensen's turn to look at the guy like he's the only thing that exists, for the time it takes him to understand how the guy is looking back at him, and then he averts his eyes, focuses on eating fried bananas.

They finish their dessert in silence; shooting glances across the table at each other, and Jensen _really_ likes this guy—way more than he should.

Jensen looks down and clears his throat, puts his dinner napkin on the table. "So what's next?"

 

*

 

What ends up being next is them making it five feet from the restaurant, before 'Chad' buying both of them woven bracelets from a walking vendor. 'Chad's' is black at the edge with orange fading into yellow fading into lavender, like a sunset on the edge of nighttime. The bracelet he ties around Jensen's wrist starts with a red deeper than blood, descending into an equal navy-ish blue that merges seamlessly into a dark grey.

"Tie mine on," the guy urges, and Jensen stops, his hands halfway to the other guy's wrist.

"Why do you get the bright colors and I get the serious ones?"

"Because that's how we roll. Isn’t it?" the guy asks, cocking his head to the side as he looks at Jensen.

Yeah, tonight, that _is_ how they roll. But… "I'm not used to being the serious one," Jensen admits, tying the cords of the other guy's bracelet.

"Then don’t be," 'Chad' says, smiling as he moves the hand with bracelet tied around it, linking his fingers through Jensen's.

 

*

They walk on, back to the beach, sand beneath their feet as they talk about Fight Club, and the Stargate series. They walk until they find a beach bar that's still open, low orange and blue lights giving it mellow glow. There's a performer with coconut shell halves on fire in her hands as she dances to ambient techno.

They sit down at one of the low tables together, watching silently until she's done, their hands still laced together, Jensen holding onto the sea turtle in his other hand.

A waitress comes over to them and asks Jensen if he and his boyfriend would like a drink, and neither of them bothers to correct her. They share a glance as she walks away, both of them smiling before they look out at the surf rolling in along the beach. It's a beautiful night, light breeze coming in off the Caribbean, and neither of them rush to fill the silence, talking occasionally and leisurely about the way the constellations look different here than up North, about how the sand is so smooth here, but mostly just holding each other's hands and being close to each other, shoulders leaned together.

They sip their drinks, and the guy leans in, resting his cheek against Jensen's shoulder, squeezing Jensen's hand in his own. "So if I really was your boyfriend, what would you be doing right now?"

"Restraining myself from making out with you and groping you in public."

"I said 'if I was your boyfriend', not what you're doing right now," the guy says, and Jensen can hear the grin in his voice.

"I stand by my answer," Jensen replies, smiling back.

"I was thinking how I'd recite you some sonnets, maybe serenade you if I had my guitar."

"Liar," Jensen grins.

"Okay, _after_ we made out and I groped you in public," the guy agrees.

The guy lifts his head, turning his face to smile at Jensen, and his mouth is suddenly, disarmingly close.

"Do you really play guitar and sing?" Jensen asks, feeling breathless.

"In the theoretical world where I'm your boyfriend I do," the guy answers, his voice hushed. He's looking Jensen right in the eye and god damn he's gorgeous and adorable and he smells so good and his _mouth_.

"Is the making out and groping each other also part of that theoretical world?" Jensen whispers, barely aware of the words passing his lips, every bit of him focused on the intense look the guy is giving him. 

The guy glances down at Jensen's mouth, running the tip of his tongue across his lower lip, and there's so much heat in his gaze that Jensen feels like he's going to burn up.

"I really wish it wasn't," the guy says, regretful. "But to have the perfect night, we can't kiss. A chemistry-less kiss would kill the whole fantasy."

"Okay," Jensen takes a quick breath, trying to swallow his disappointment. "How about the groping?" 

The guy chuckles gently, leaning closer, and Jensen's heartbeat kicks up a notch. "No. But we can come really close to kissing," he says, breathing the words across Jensen's lips.

Jensen's breath hitches in his chest, the guy is right _there_ , another fraction of an inch and their mouths would be touching, and Jensen wants to taste him so badly, his palms practically itching to touch the guy, get underneath his shirt and feel all the hard muscle under smooth, tanned skin.

The guy puts his hand on Jensen's cheek, tilting his head to the side a little, and for a heartbeat Jensen thinks he's going to go for it after all.

"There's something to be said for almost kissing for the first time," he whispers into Jensen's mouth. "The excitement, the anticipation."

"The way your heart speeds up and your stomach flutters," Jensen says, and he can appreciate that, he really can, but God, he's dying for the guy to kiss him.

"Yeah," the guy breathes, and then he smiles and pulls back, drawing Jensen up from the sand by their interlaced fingers.

Jensen's knees feel a little weak, but they hold.

Down the beach, a little further, there's another bar with people turning in circles on the dance floor to songs Jensen recognizes. The guy doesn't say anything; just flexes his fingers through Jensen's and leads him inside. He pauses briefly to set their stuffed animals on a tall table and then pulls Jensen onto the dance floor. He slides his arms around Jensen's waist, pressing up against his body.

"Does this count as groping?" Jensen asks, and the guy laughs.

"Technically there are no hands involved, so no."

"I'm really enjoying not groping you," Jensen informs him, pulling him a little tighter against his body, and this time when the guy laughs it's a short burst where he throws back his head, and Jesus he's got a long neck. He feels so good pressed up against Jensen, their hips swinging side to side as they turn, and Jensen lets his head rest against the guy's shoulder for a minute, just breathing him in.

He catches a glimpse of their animals through the crowd; Wilhelmina the tall scraggly llama and the unnamed short, stout sea turtle. They make an unlikely pair.

"Walter," Jensen says a few minutes later. "My turtle's name," he explains when they guy doesn't say anything. 

"Walter and Wilhelmina," the guys says, musing, and then nods. "I like it."

"Why did you buy Walter for me?" Jensen asks, lifting his head from the guy's shoulder to see him better, leaning close to the other guy's mouth.

"Asks questions he already knows the answer to," the guy says, wry, like he's making a mental note.

And well, okay. "I really kind of do," Jensen admits. "It's a comment on my shell, right?"

"Maybe just a little bit," the guy grins back.

"I wasn't always like this," Jensen breathes, leaning closer to that grinning mouth, god, so warm.

"I'm getting that. But I don’t think I can bring you out of it in one night."

"So we should make the most of it, right?" Jensen asks, looking up at the guy, lips so close to his.

"No," the guy breathes out against his mouth, fingertip rising, pressing against Jensen's lower lip. "This is the first, perfect night. No chances on a chemistry-less kiss."

Jensen's hyperaware of the guy's body against his, everywhere they're touching, as he turns him in a slow circle in time to the music. "This kiss could never be chemistry-less. This kiss will have _so much_ chemistry."

"I know," the guy whispers. "God, I know. But if I kiss you…"

"It's just a kiss," Jensen breathes back, wanting so much.

The guy hesitates, his mouth so close to Jensen's that Jensen can feel the heat of it, the air between them nearly buzzing, crackling with invisible electric energy.

"Just a kiss," the guy agrees.

And then his mouth is on Jensen's, tongue flickering out just to taste him, test him, and Jensen opens for him eagerly, pulls him inside and slides his tongue around the other guy's, and it shouldn't be this easy, the way they meet, desperate and wanting, sleek, wet slide of muscle, both of them breathing out hard through their noses. The guy gets his hands on Jensen's jaw and tilts him up into the kiss, tongue circling and sucking lightly on Jensen's, Jensen kissing back until he feels almost dizzy with it. It's the best kiss Jensen's ever had in his life, even sweeter for all the promise behind it.

The guy pulls away, biting at Jensen's lower lip, clinging there even as he speaks. "I… that… was."

"Perfect," Jensen finishes.

The guy nods, his eyes wide and slightly glazed, his mouth still so close. "Yeah."

God, Jensen just wants this guy to come to bed with him, and fuck all his new rules, fuck them _all_. "How are we just supposed to walk away from this?"

The guy licks his lower lip, and Jensen wants to taste him again. "Close your eyes and count to ten," he whispers.

Jensen closes his eyes and feels the guy let go of him. He begins counting to himself, pausing a second between each number, and when he opens his eyes, expecting he doesn't know what, the guy is gone.

There are still people dancing in couples all around him, but the spot where the guy had stood is completely empty. 

Walter and Wilhelmina are still on the table together, and Jensen snatches them up, looking left and right. He couldn't have gone far, Jensen thinks, and starts for the beach—but he could have gone out the door, to the street, Jensen turns, indecisive, and dammit. 

He chooses the street, hurrying out through the doorway, turning as quick he can in either direction searching for a glimpse of the guy. Jensen doesn't see anyone tall enough to be him, so he turns and rushes back through the door, running for the beach. The sand is cool beneath his feet, moon full and high above him as he looks each way.

The beach stretches empty as far as he can see in either direction, and Jensen bites his lower lip, sighs out a breath through his nose.

The guy has disappeared. He could be anywhere, really, and this is what they both agreed on, right? This is what Jensen wanted; something perfect and safe, no chance it could ever be ruined. 

Still, he stands on the beach a few minutes more.

 

 

*

 

 

"And it was perfect," Jensen says as he sets his beer down and finishes explaining it to his friends. "It will always be perfect."

They're all silent, just staring at him from within the booth of the bar for a long moment, and that isn't exactly the reception he'd guessed they'd give him. 

"Jesus Christ, Jensen," Danny says, shaking her head. "This guy sounds _amazing_ , with the ridiculous romanticism, and _romance novels_ ," she emphasizes with a wave of her hands, "and you let him _walk away_?"

"I didn't _let_ him walk away. He kind of tricked me on that part."

"But Jensen, you didn't even try to track him down?"

"He only seemed perfect because it was the first night, Danny. Everyone's perfect on the first night."

"I thought Misha was the stupidest person to ever live, but now I'm being forced to reassess that."

"Hey," Misha protests.

"Most relationship-incompatible," Danny amends, with long-suffering patience, and Misha shrugs, nodding and seeming satisfied with that.

"Chris?" Jensen asks, beginning the part where the rest of his friends weigh in. 

Chris makes an uncomfortable face. "I have to agree with Danny, Jen. He sounds perfect for you. Like _really_ perfect," Chris emphasizes. "I've known you a long time, and no offense, but based on what you told us? He's the most perfect guy you've ever had a date with."

"What do you mean 'no offense'?" Jensen asks, narrowing his eyes on Chris.

"He means all your other guys have been… kind of a mess, Jen," Danny replies, and Chris looks kind of guilty, like maybe he agrees.

Jensen sucks in an offended breath. "They were _not_ messes. Okay, maybe they had some personality issues, and needed some work, but—"

"They were fixer-uppers," Danny says solemnly. 

"Fixer-uppers?" Jensen demands.

"Like a house you buy because, in spirit, it's not too bad, and it's a beautiful house in its way, because the architecture is great, and it has the potential to be an _amazing_ house, with a little work and polish. It just needs some fixing-up. It just needs someone to make it perfect in that way it never realized before."

"I do not date fixer-uppers," Jensen says.

"Speaking as someone who pursues fixer-uppers on a regular basis with no intention of fixing them up," Misha says, "I have to agree with Danny."

Jensen just looks at him, amazed and feeling left to the wolves. 

"They're prime," Misha says, like he's an expert on the subject. "Because they're _almost_ okay. They just think they need the right person to make them feel perfect. It's a super easy gig for getting laid once," Misha adds and shrugs. "But they're not relationship material. Which is why I love them."

"And you think this guy is relationship material?" Jensen asks, incredulous.

"Don't be ridiculous," Misha chuckles. "But dating fixer-uppers? That's been your one-note song as long as I've known you."

Jesus. Okay. "Gen?" If anyone is gonna call this, it's gonna be Genevieve. 

"Remember back in college, before you figured out you were gay and we dated for like three weeks?"

Fuck, Jensen didn't think she'd be dragging that out. 

"Fixer-upper, baby," she nods and salutes Jensen with her beer. 

"You know I've always thought you're awesome," Misha interjects quickly, looking at her. "You just need the right person to care about you, and really, who doesn't?"

Gen rolls her eyes at Misha and takes a drink from her beer.

"I see you for what you really are," Misha goes on, staring at Gen, and everyone ignores him.

"Jensen…" Danny shakes her head. "It's a consensus. Even _Misha_ agrees. Is there any way you can track this guy down?"

"No," Jensen says, shaking his head, thumbing at the label on his beer bottle. And the amount of thought he's given to that in the last sixteen hours makes his answer definitive. Not that he'd thought about it. Okay, not that he'd thought about anything _else_ , much, but he's not telling them that.

"You've got so much potential," Misha says, staring at Gen.

"It's too late now," Jensen says, leaning over the table. "We had our night, it's over. And I'll always remember it for what it was."

"A lost opportunity?" Danny asks.

"No," Jensen says looking at her. "A perfect memory that can never be tarnished."

"So it's in the past now? And you're moving past it? Back to swearing off relationships?"

"Absolutely," Jensen answers.

"Uh huh." Danny arches a brow at him. "So why are you still wearing the bracelet, Jensen?"

Jensen looks down at his wrist, almost surprised to see the woven bracelet still there. 

"I just forgot about it is all." He shrugs. "But if I’d left it there on purpose, it would be as a reminder of the perfection I'm never going to find in real life."

"Okay." Danny rolls her eyes. She looks at Chris. "Have him talk to me when he's not still in denial."

"You got it, baby," Chris smiles and kisses her before he moves out of the way and lets her out of the booth.

Jensen's not in denial. He's not at all. He just didn't take the bracelet off because he hadn't thought about it in his rush to get back home. He could take it off right now, except that just then, their waitress shows up and he's more interested in ordering another beer.

"You're such a gift to this world," Misha says, still looking at Gen. "If only I could make you understand what a precious, beautiful gift you are."

Gen snorts, and Jensen laughs, and they clink the necks of their beer bottles against each other.

Jensen looks at the bracelet on his wrist before he takes a drink and then mentally shrugs. Tomorrow, he'll go back to work, and the real world will descend on him. And well, if he wants to spend one more night in the remembrance of his vacation, that's okay. 

Tomorrow, everything will go back to the way it was before.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

One of the best things about Jensen's job is that he freelances, so he can do it from home. Of course, that can also be a drawback, because most publishing houses don't want to pay for office space to house a copy editor, so they outsource, which can make it a pretty competitive field. Thankfully over the last few years he's built up contacts and a great reputation, so the work is steady. Most of his work these days comes from a small time publishing company called 'Firestorm Romance'.

Jensen thinks he might have named the publishing company 'Fiery Loins', or maybe 'Turgid Member', or his personal favorite description that's being used with alarming frequency, lately; 'Milky Jewel'. Although he supposes pretty much anything is better than 'the pink bulge', which is the phrase the last book he edited used in abundance. It's called a clit, and Jensen may not be fond of them in a personal sense, but seriously, use the _word_ , not a descriptive phrase that makes it sound like something frightening and possibly about to hatch.

By comparison, phrases like 'nether fruit' just make him sigh and run a hand through his hair instead of making him want to headdesk. He's not entirely sure that's an improvement.

He'd convinced himself he was hetero for most of his adult life, from his first sexual experience through that first year of college, so he has intimate knowledge of the female body, and he's never once thought of it in terms of 'a greedy canal' or 'devouring him with her orifice' or 'wet love tunnel'. Then again, he's never thought of giving a blowjob in terms of casting a fishing net around someone's cock—that book had really been something—so what does he know?

He sits down at his desk, easing back in the chair and putting on his reading glasses, reaches for the mouse and mentally prepares to go through the last eight days worth of emails.

There are a bunch of emails from Samantha about the new novel he's supposed to edit, with the novel attached in the final one, and one from Samantha's assistant, Alona, who wants to know if he's in any shape to be able to edit a romance novel with any kind of perspective, given his recent break up--which is interesting, because Jensen hadn't even told her about breaking up with Eric.

But yeah, of course he's fine. He's been editing romance novels for years, through being in a relationship with other guys and their eventual end and on to the next. He guesses it's better than it used to be, when she doubted his ability to edit romance novels at all, based on the fact that the majority of the print market is male/female romance. Then they'd gone out for drinks that one night, and Jensen had explained everything he'd studied about women's bodies before he'd realized he was actually gay, and that had been the end of that.

He's always been an avid researcher. If you don't know your material, you're doing it wrong.

He sighs only slightly when he sees the name of the novel he's supposed to edit is, "Wild Fire in the Wild Night".

Back to business as usual.

 

*

 

Within a chapter, "Wild Fire in the Wild Night" turns out to be pretty much what he expected. A sweet, virginal girl in her early twenties finding a complicated, fucked up man who's older and makes her loins catch on fire. Which really, sounds kind of fatal and not at all pleasurable.

It isn't that Jensen doesn’t like romance novels. He got into editing them for a reason. It's the fact that so few of them are anywhere near well written. Still, in an age of Fifty Shades of Grey topping the bestseller charts, he almost kind of treasures the purple-ness of most romance novels. At least these authors put their heart and soul into it, even if it’s ridiculous. But it's still not anywhere near what modern romance is actually like. Jensen hasn't met many—okay, _any_ women who were virgins into their twenties. Maybe they're out there, but they're not nearly as common as they are in romance novels. In written word, women have to be perfect and untainted by a cock in order to be desirable, and seriously, is the world still living in the dark ages? How is that even possible?

But that's apparently what sells, according to people more important than him, and he gets paid to make sure words, content and plot are consistent according to the story parameters pressed upon him. So he settles in, focuses on the words and changes a word here, a paragraph there. He'll print it out later and go through it in more detail; this is his first run.

And there's the female character, spreading her legs and 'showing him the glistening mound of her world, inviting him inside, baring all the secrets of her womanhood, abandoning herself to the inevitably of his manhood'.

Jensen's just gritting his teeth and willing himself to push past it when the door to his apartment opens.

"Oh, you're working," Danneel says, acting chagrined for a moment.

"On the verge of a breakthrough," Jensen says through still gritted teeth, sarcasm obvious.

"What are you editing?" Danny asks, walking up beside him.

"Nothing you'd ever read," Jensen tells her, minimizing the window. "And thank you for that, seriously."

"More helpless damsels in distress?"

"It sucks," Jensen agrees, and means it.

This is an old conversation between them, and Danny just nods, already moving on from him and his laptop. She's standing over his discarded luggage, looking down at what he'd set on top of it with way too much interest. 

"Oh. This is…" she says, bending down and grabbing the stuffed animals. "This is Walter and Wilhelmina," she grins. "They're so cute."

God, she's really not going to let it go. 

"That story is done," Jensen tells her.

"I don't know," Danny says, walking over to where Jensen's sitting with both animals her hands. "I feel like they've still got a story to be told."

"What do you think of this guy?" Danny asks Wilhelmina, leaning in close to the llama.

"I think he's fucking awesome," Danny answers in a higher, squeakier voice, turning Wilhelmina back and forth as if the llama were speaking to her. 

"You are seriously disturbed," Jensen says, cutting her a look. "You know that, right?"

Danny predictably ignores him, focusing on the stuffed animals in her hands. 

"He's fucking awesome," Danny goes on in Wilhelmina voice, "but he's got commitment problems."

"It's not a problem," Jensen objects. "It's a philosophy. Look, I need to finish this edit."

"Oh," Danny says in her own voice, looking at the llama sympathetically. "It's a _philosophy_."

"Danny," Jensen sighs, shaking his head. "I couldn't find the guy if I tried."

"You hear that? You're just not worth it, baby," Danny tells the llama in her hand, kissing it dramatically on the nose. "No, you don't need to know that," she adds swiftly, apologetically, setting the llama and turtle down on the edge of his desk and wrapping her hands around the llama's ears.

" _This_ is how you're spending your lunch break?" Jensen demands.

"Shh," Danny whispers, running her hands through the wild fur of the llama. "He just doesn't understand, yet."

"I couldn't find him if I tried," Jensen snaps, exasperated. "What part of that don't you understand?"

"The part where you're not trying," Danny says evenly, looking him in the eye as she also turns the eyes of both stuffed animals on him.

And okay, he needs a break from this particular drama, and he's just about to say so when the door opens again.

"Hey, baby," Chris says, walking up beside Danny. "What'd I miss?"

Danny gives him a quick kiss and then grins at him sideways. "I was just doing a puppet theater showcasing Jensen's commitment issues."

"Damn it." Chris sounds genuinely disappointed. "I missed a puppet show?"

"Why are you here?" Jensen asks Chris.

"Danny said we were doing lunch at your place," Chris shrugs. 

The door to his apartment opens again and Jensen gives up, rocking back in his chair and rolling his eyes. "I'm really beginning to regret giving you all keys to my apartment."

Gen's smiling and carrying a pizza box from his favorite place in the entire world as he knows it, and it smells like _heaven_. "Still regretting it?" she asks, presenting the box.

Jensen gets up and puts his hands on the cardboard. "This is still hot. How did you make it from Vito's to here without it getting cold?"

Gen just shrugs and smiles at him, handing the pizza box over to him. It smells _so_ good and it's piping hot and—

"Seriously. How did you make it here without this getting cold?"

"Jensen," Genevieve says as she tilts her head sideways at him, smiling, and pinching his cheek like he's too cute for words.

She's already turning away when he says, "That's not an answer."

"I'm here," Misha announces unnecessarily as he walks through the door. "You can start now."

Jensen's standing there with a box full of his favorite pizza, and his friends are clearly not going away. He might as well make the best of it.

"I want you to know the fact that I'm going to eat this in no way means I'm giving in to the obvious emotional manipulation you're pulling to make me okay with you all being here to give me crap about my supposed 'commitment issues'."

"Uh huh," Danny agrees too brightly and nods, distracted by arranging the stuffed animals on his desk just so.

"Clearly," Gen says, making a "psssh" sound and waving her hand through the air as she sits down on the couch.

"There's emotional manipulation? And pizza?" Misha says, sitting down on the couch beside Gen and rubbing his hands together. "Two of my favorite things." His eyes lock on Gen’s chest, seeming riveted as he adds, “Two of my _other_ favorite things.”

Genevieve cuts her eyes at him in amused disgust.

"Danny did a puppet show, before," Chris tells Misha, sitting down beside Gen.

" _Damn_ it," Misha snaps, punching the air with one fist. "What was the theme?" he asks, turning to look at Danny.

"Jensen's commitment issues."

"Oh," Misha comments, sounding completely uninterested, and then adds, longingly, "But really? A puppet show?"

Jensen sets the pizza box on the coffee table and sits down in the armchair off to the side of the couch as Danny squeezes in beside Chris.

"More of an improv. All about how Jensen hasn't tried to find his mystery perfect date yet," Danny explains as Jensen opens the box and pulls out a slice of pizza. It's dripping cheese, the perfect temperature as it hits his tongue, and he can't help the way his eyes roll back in his head a little bit with the taste. It's almost enough to drown out the words Danny is saying.

Almost, but not quite. Jensen chews and swallows, taste buds tingling with pleasure the whole time. "God this is _so_ good," he groans. "But," he adds, belatedly stern as he looks at Danny, "it still doesn't mean I agree with you about finding this guy."

"Of course not," she says, far too reasonably, and smiles as she reaches into the box for a slice of her own.

Two slices later, Jensen's belly is warm and full and he's caught in the almost coma-like dazed amazement that Vito's Pizza always leaves him with, listening to Danny go on about his issues.

"So we know he's from Texas," Danny says, opening a folder she's produced from thin air. 

"You didn't make a binder?" Gen asks.

"It's a work in progress," Danny mutters, shooting her a look. She looks at Jensen, then, and smiles as she spreads the folder open on the table. "So. From Texas. Can you imitate his accent?"

"Probably," Jensen answers, confused. "But Danny, even if he's from Texas, that doesn't mean he still lives there."

"Just work with me here, Jensen," she hisses, shooting him the look this time.

"Fine," Jensen sighs, thinking. "He sounded…" Jensen rolls the words around on his tongue, "kind of like…" that's closer, "almost like…" yeah, really close, "like _this_ ," he says, confident as he speaks the last words in a perfect imitation of 'Chad's' drawl. Maybe those three years of doing drama in high school actually paid off.

"Uh huh," Danny nods. "You sound like you're from Georgia, you know, if Georgia were located in France."

Jensen looks at Chris for verification.

Chris gives him a solemn, sympathetic look and nods. "Texas would weep, bro."

And since Chris is from there originally, well.

"Was it like this?" Chris asks, with a drawl. "Or like this?" he asks, changing the sound of the drawl.

"More like the second one."

"More like, or exactly?"

Twenty minutes pass with Jensen being grilled before they figure out the guy is probably from a particular area of Texas. It's around then that Jensen realizes he'd never agreed to tracking this guy down in the first place, and that he's basically drunk on pizza, and his friends are exploiting him.

"That's it," he says, standing up. "Even if I wanted to find this guy, without a name I'm pretty much screwed. So we're done here. Everybody go back to work."

"We can figure this out, Jensen," Danny says, giving him her pleading eyes.

"Out," Jensen tells her, pointing at the door.

"We're just trying to help," Danny says, grumpy as she gathers up the contents of her folder.

"And I appreciate it," Jensen says. "But really, I'm okay with things the way they are."

Danny cuts him a look that says she doesn't think he appreciates it at all _or_ that he's okay with everything, but she leaves, grumbling all the way. There are varying rounds of 'see you later tonight' from everyone, and then they're gone, Jensen closing the door on Misha’s assurances to Gen about how he really understands her.

He sits back down in front of his laptop and sighs. He knows his friends mean well, they always do, but he really is okay. With that aspect of things anyway. As for editing this book, he's not so sure he's okay with that. He's sort of lost his mental groove (what little there was of it to begin with) over the last forty minutes. His eyes stray to the stuffed animals sitting on the outer edge of his desk and he stares at them for a little while, stroking his chin, lost in thought until he decides a cup of coffee might be just the thing to get him back on track.

It's chilly outside, even for April, so he pulls on his light jacket on the way out the door. He walks two blocks to the coffee cart on the corner and gets in line behind a couple of people, scanning the magazines displayed on the shelf of the newsstand to the left, more to pass the time than anything else. The sidewalk around him is busy as ever, people walking in both directions, occasionally stopping off to buy a magazine or get in line behind him.

"Hey, Jensen. The usual?" Eddie asks with a grin when he gets to the front of the line.

"Nah. I think today I'll have… an espresso."

Eddie laughs like the joke isn't old and makes him his usual espresso. Jensen's just turning away, telling Eddie to have a good afternoon, espresso hot against his palm when he jerks to a stop, coffee jostling inside the cup.

Standing curbside, maybe fifteen feet away, a guy is pulling open the door to a taxi cab, and that wouldn't be weird—wouldn't be worth jerking to a stop over—if the guy weren't tremendously tall and incredibly built with long-ish, dark hair and long bangs sweeping out across the cheeks of his gorgeous features.

It's _him_. It's his perfect mystery date, separated from him by fifteen feet and a throng of people. Jensen's brain is still struggling to wrap itself around the realization when the coffee he jostled upon jerking to a stop flies up through the tiny sipping hole and lands across his inner wrist, burning the skin so badly that his eyes yank to it as he hisses and almost drops the whole cup.

"Hey buddy, you gonna stand there all day or what?" the guy in line behind him demands, annoyed.

Jensen looks up at the street again, but all he sees a glimpse of the guy's shoulder before the door of the taxi pulls shut, and really, it could be anyone—doesn't particularly look like 'Chad' in the backseat as the cab pulls into traffic and Jensen gets another quick glimpse of the guy's face during a quick gap in people passing by.

It couldn't have been him. But for a split second, it had looked like... 

No way it was 'Chad'.

"Hey buddy," the guy behind him says, again, beginning to sound more pissed off than annoyed.

"Sorry," Jensen mutters belatedly, getting out of the way.

Jensen was… seeing things. And not because he wanted to, but because Danny got him drunk on pizza today while all his friends grilled him about the guy. It's no wonder, after all that, Jensen might confuse someone features; think he'd seen the guy on the street. Damn them all.

He shakes his head and joins the never-ending stream of people walking north, heading back to his apartment.

 

*

 

The days pass - mostly unremarkably - editing during the day, hanging out with his friends at night, and within three days he's finished with the final edit on "Wild Fire in the Wild Night". A few days later, Samantha sends him another novel, this one with a note that the author would like to be able to stay in contact via email regarding any content changes or concerns about flow as they happen, and Jensen groans inwardly. He much prefers it when he doesn't have to deal with discussing with the author every time there's a continuity error or he feels like a scene doesn't flow quite right. But it's part of what he gets paid for sometimes, and he can't do much besides agree to the terms.

C. J. Reynolds is the author's name, and Jensen's at least grateful that it seems like a reasonable author name and not one of the fantastically purple ones most romance writers make up. The title of the book--"Once Upon a Summer's Night"—seems somewhat hopeful, too, in that nothing is burning or on fire or mentions desire, or longing, or anything involving the word forbidden. Forbidden longing, Burning Longing, Forbidden Desires, Forbidden Burning, Burning Desire, Nights on Fire, Dreams on Fire, and basically every combination therein; Jensen's pretty sure he's at least read if not edited all of those books.

Still, none of that means the author herself will be reasonable. He's met maybe a handful of authors who’ve said, "You're right! I _should_ cut/lengthen/delete that scene, that totally works!", etc., or, for instance (on a couple particularly memorable occasions) took his explanation of how anal sex actually works seriously. But hey, what does he know? 

He glances past the laptop at Walter and Wilhelmina. He still hasn't moved them, mostly because they symbolize, in the weirdest possible way, how this all still works for him. Just like the bracelet on his wrist that Danny's never going to shut up about and Jensen now refuses to remove as a point of pride. And it’s not because the guy would have been perfect beyond that night no matter what Danny tries to tell him, but because he wouldn’t have been. Just like this book probably isn’t perfect. Just like most of the books he reads aren’t.

Okay, fine. These novels have the whole sometimes inexplicable happy ending thing working for them, but they’re still not perfect. Happy endings never last. Day by day, moment by moment, the details creep in.

If his story had ended with Eric in a book, it would have ended three nights after Eric moved in and they’d lain in bed together, both of them laughing before they’d kissed; their whole perfect future ahead of them. Jensen’s pretty sure he read that story, too. The one where they were together forever and Jensen laughed indulgently at all of Eric’s idiosyncrasies and loved those, too. 

But the reality of how it all shakes out isn’t what romance novels are about, and he has a job to do.

He double-clicks on the attachment to the email and settles in.

 

*

 

He gets through the first four chapters before he has to take a break, and it’s not because the story is poorly written—hell, for once, it’s actually _really_ well written and he’s barely had to touch his keyboard. The main character is experienced sexually before she has her first sexual encounter with her mysterious, complicated guy, and the writer gets bonus points just for that. The problem... the problem is…

The problem is he doesn’t like the main character. She’s too romantically idealistic—but not in the way romantically idealistic characters usually are, where they’re caricatures (and occasionally extremely creepy accurate representations) of real people. She’s got depth, and grounding, and a laid back sense of humor, and she thinks about things, and yet, she’s still inexplicably interested in this mysterious, complicated guy, who, through his mannerisms and actions, couldn’t scream, “Run away right fucking now” any louder.

This guy, Jason, couldn’t scream “run away” more unless he was a reactor at Chernobyl in 1986. And yet Marian really likes him. 

“You’re smarter than that, Marian,” Jensen mutters, rubbing at his brows. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe she’s supposed to fall for the obviously fucked up guy on her way to the real thing. He doubts it, based on most of what he’s read, but maybe this will be the novel that surprises him.

Yeah, it probably won’t be. But Marian seems to have more mental facilities than the average romance novel female, so he can hold out hope, right?

He sighs and minimizes the novel, his email window showing in its absence.

He has an email from C.J. Reynolds. 

Jensen hesitates, and then clicks on it. It’s the usual introductory bullshit, with the usual compliment of how glad she is for Jensen to be editing her story, and how Jensen should contact her if anything seems out of place.

Jensen clicks on the reply button, and types out, “So far, your main character is completely unbelievable. Why would anyone fall for someone like Jason?”

Yeah, he’s got no place saying that, which is why he deletes the words and then closes the response. He isn’t really paid to comment on the characterization except in extreme situations where he can’t help himself—which usually ends in him making himself feel better by writing that kind of response without sending it.

He’ll deal with it more diplomatically, later.

He should get some lunch, take that break; come back fresh. 

He lingers for a moment though, looking at the black, furry llama with wild hair.

‘The Misadventures of Walter and Wilhelmina’ has a certain ring to it. 

Jensen pushes the idea down and gets up from his seat. He gave up writing a long time ago. Much like relationships, it’s never going to work out. Walter and Wilhelmina will never work out; they’re a llama and a sea turtle for fuck’s sake. 

He needs to go get lunch.

 

*

 

The street is cooled by recent rain, sky gray and overcast above him. It’s not raining now, though, which he’s grateful for since it takes him a few minutes to hail a cab to take him to his favorite Mediterranean restaurant.

There are a couple of other Mediterranean restaurants in town that have better food, but Jensen likes this place. It’s lively, with its upbeat Middle-Eastern music and filled with the friendly smiles and chatter of the family that owns and runs the place. They always seem like they’re having a good time working together, and their cheer spreads to the customers as well He’s in the middle of eating his grilled flank steak with cucumber-yogurt sauce, relishing the taste and the atmosphere when he notices a guy walking past the front window.

It’s _Chad_. Jensen doesn’t have a doubt in his mind. It’s him.

And if Jensen leaves his meal, runs for the door in a hurry, shoving it outward, it’s just because he can’t believe it. Because what would be the chances--?

There’s no trace of the guy among the crowd when he looks down the street, and really, he’s not sure what he was thinking. The chances of this guy being in New York City are about the same as Misha ever sleeping with Adrianna Lima, no matter what Misha says.

And he doesn’t really care; it would just be an amazing coincidence if the guy was here. That would be crazy, and… and not at all awkward if Jensen actually caught up with him. Yeah not even a little bit. Because what do you say to a person after you have a ‘perfect night’ with them that isn’t going to ruin the illusion?

Jensen rolls his eyes at himself and turns to walk back to his seat, letting the door shut behind him.

It’s not like Jensen _really_ wants to see the guy. So why is he suddenly imagining seeing him? Twice, now? Danny would have a theory, but that’s a scary theory Jensen never wants to hear, which is why he’s never, ever going to tell her about this.

He sits back down, picking up his fork, and nods to himself in agreement. He’s just going to put this out of his mind, go back to his apartment and edit ‘Once Upon a Summer’s Night’

 

*

 

“I’ve seen him twice now,” Jensen finishes telling Danny across the remains of his lunch about twenty minutes later. “What is that even about?” 

“Aw, Jen,” Danneel says, sympathetic as she reaches across the table and lays a hand over his.

“It’s the Unconquered Prospect,” Misha says, nodding.

“Why are you here?” Jensen asks, looking at him. “I didn’t call you.”

“I’m so glad you asked,” Misha says and brightens. “The Unconquered Prospect is the one that _just_ got away. You’ve got them in the cab,” Misha goes on, setting the scene with motions of his hands, “you’re on the way to your place, and the chemistry is there, it’s so on, until something _terrible_ happens. Maybe they pass out in mid-kiss. Maybe… you say something that reminds them too much of their father. Or maybe you got into a cab with a complete stranger and you misunderstood her signals and she slaps you when you go for the kiss,” Misha shrugs. 

“Do you have a point?” Jensen asks.

“Such a good question,” Danny mutters in a way that questions the point of Misha’s existence entirely.

“The point is,” Misha says, leaning across the table toward him, eyes intent on Jensen’s. “It doesn’t matter what happened. Whatever the reason, they were the one that got away. Nothing haunts a man more than what he _could have_ had, but _didn’t_ ,” Misha says, looking off into the distance and nodding with a look of wisdom before he takes a sip from his drink. “Take it from an expert.”

“So… how many have gotten away from you?” Jensen asks, brow furrowing.

“Two. The rest, I managed to track down,” Misha says, head leaning side to side. “But those two,” he says gravely, nodding again. “They haunt me, Jensen.” He pauses and sips from his drink. “They haunt me.”

“Haunt?”

“I see them in the face of every woman I haven’t slept with yet,” Misha tells him, somber. “Hundreds of them, walking past me on the street every day. And they all have the same two faces.”

Jensen shakes his head a couple times. “So they all have two faces on the same body? Or are these faces spread out equally among them?”

“It’s complicated,” Misha sighs.

“Doesn’t that get confusing though? Because every woman you sleep with has one or both of their faces, so isn’t it the same as sleeping with one or both of them? Surely you’ve slept with both of them multiple times by now.”

Misha opens his mouth, looking momentarily confused, and Danny lets go of Jensen’s hand, settling her elbows on the table as she leans toward him. “Jensen, you’re seeing this guy for one of two reasons. One, he’s actually here in the city. Or two, you can’t get him out of your head because he was perfect for you.”

“Two sounds a little like the Unconquered Prospect,” Misha puts in. “Just sayin’,” he adds, off Danny’s look.

“You really think either of those girls would have been perfect for you?” Danny asks, exasperated.

“Don’t be absurd,” Misha says, exhaling a dismissive and derisive breath.

“Then how is that anywhere near the same thing?”

Misha’s eyes tick up and to the right as he considers that. “Because…” he says, drawing out the word like he’s stalling, and then abruptly he deflates, sighing, brisk and resentful as he says, “Dammit, okay, fine, you win.”

Danny ignores him, looking back to Jensen, intent. “Jensen, whichever one it is—whether you’re hallucinating him or he’s really here—you know this means we have to find him.”

“I don’t want to find him, Danny. That would ruin everything. What I want is to stop seeing him.”

“And if he _is_ here, that’ll be pretty tough to do.”

Jensen rolls his eyes at her. “Come on, Danny. You don’t really think he’s here.” 

“Stranger things have happened,” she shrugs. “Remember that time when me and Chris got food poisoning and missed out on the Rolling Stones concert we had front row tickets to?”

“Those weren’t actual tickets. Those were theoretical nosebleed tickets you were hoping to buy at the door for three times the cost.”

“I knew a guy who had front row seat tickets,” Danny protests, offended. “That… we were going to buy off him at the door.”

“She did know a guy,” Misha nods. He takes a sip from his drink and the looks sidelong at Danny. “You met him on the internet. And he waited for you all night long.” Misha looks up, like he’s thinking long and hard. “What did you promise him for those tickets again?”

Danny cuts her eyes sideways at Misha, alarmed and vaguely ashamed all at once. “Nothing. How do you…?”

Misha glances away knowingly, and Danny narrows her eyes on him even harder.

“Oh, you are so getting dealt with later,” she mutters beneath her breath.

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Misha answers even more quietly.

“Not the way you’re hoping,” Danny replies, tone dripping acid.

“So, the Rolling Stones Concert,” Jensen offers.

“The Rolling Stones concert,” Danny agrees, meeting his eyes as she settles back into the story. “We didn’t get to go, and we were heartbroken. We got over our food poisoning the next day, and decided we had to get past our disappointment. So we went out the next night, and who did we run into?”

“Keith Richards?” Jensen asks, knowing this part of the story by heart.

“ _Keith Richards_ ,” Danny says, like Jensen hadn’t spoken at all. “We didn’t get to go to the concert, and then we ran into him at a bar that night. We had,” Danneel goes on with emphasis, “ _three_ beers with him while he told us stories from the early days of the band. One of our personal band legend heroes hanging out with us and telling us stories from the good old days. After we got food poisoning and missed the concert with front row seats.”

“Theoretical front row seats,” Jensen can’t help interrupting.

“No, they were real,” Misha sighs with something approaching regret.

Danny ignores them both. “We’d given up on the dream of seeing him play live… and then the universe dropped him right in our laps. We got to hang out with him for two _hours_ , just the three of us. Even _better_ than seeing him play live.”

And okay, so it’s true; stranger things have happened. They’re just almost never _good_ things. Good things that happen to Jensen, anyway.

“Okay, I’ll grant you, the odds of walking into the bar Keith Richards was in that night, pretty slim, the chances of getting to talk to him for a couple of hours uninterrupted, even less. And I hate you for getting to hang out with him like that. But Danny, the man was playing a concert here the night before. Stands to reason he might be here the next night. My perfect date showing up here? When he could live anywhere in the country?”

“It could happen,” Danny says. “We got our perfect Keith Richards moment; you could get your perfect romance.”

“Perfect,” Jensen echoes, unconvinced. “You’re forgetting that the night ended with you vomiting on Keith Richards’ shoes?”

“He patted me on the back and said he’d done it dozens of times himself,” Danneel replies defensively, quick and heated.

“Probably true,” Jensen nods without a doubt. “Not exactly the perfect ending though, was it?”

“He helped me and Chris get a cab, and then he kissed me on the cheek and said goodnight before he closed the door. Perfect. Night.”

Jensen waits a moment, and then says, “But it would have been better if you didn’t throw up on him, right?”

Danny glares murderous daggers at him. “It was one slight hiccup in an otherwise perfect night.”

“See,” Jensen says, “I’m never going to have that slight hiccup with ‘Chad’. We had our perfect night. There’s never even a chance for a slight hiccup, because we did it right and we’re done. No hiccups, no future for hiccups.”

“Everyone vomits on Keith Richards’ shoes eventually, Jensen…Figuratively,” Danny adds after a moment’s thought. “It’s how you deal with it that matters.”

“I don’t want to have to deal with that. And I don’t ever have to, because,” he shrugs, “here I am.”

“Yeah,” Danny nods. “Here you are. Hallucinating him or seeing him for real. And if he _is_ really here, then that’s the universe sending you a pretty big sign. If you’re hallucinating him, then that’s your brain sending you a pretty big sign. Either way, you’re not done with this guy, yet.”

He was right. He really didn’t want to hear this theory. 

“Thanks, Danny,” is all he says as he gets up from the table.

“Jensen—wait. What are you going to do about it?” she asks, concerned.

He spreads his arms wide beside the table and shrugs. “Nothing. Ignore the universe, or my brain, whichever.”

“Jensen,” Danny’s tone communicates exactly how disappointed she is in his plan. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of experience in ignoring both,” he reassures her with a wink and a smile, and then turns, walking toward the door.

“So are you going to eat those?” Misha asks from behind him.

The question is punctuated by a smack, and Misha hissing ‘ouch’.

“Hands on your side of the table,” Danny admonishes.

Jensen smiles as the door closes behind him.

 

*

 

Days pass, and neither the universe nor Jensen’s brain offer up another glimpse of the guy. Jensen continues to edit ‘Once Upon a Summer’s Night’. As it turns out, Marian wears Jason down into opening up to her and he turns out not to be such a bad guy after all, and the sex is extremely well-written as well as being anatomically accurate. They actually communicate well, and seem to understand one another, and in the end, there’s nothing at all about the story that’s inexplicable. It’s warm, happy and hopeful, almost like something that could happen in real life if the right two people met, and it bugs the hell out of Jensen.

He doesn’t have much to offer C.J. Reynolds in the way of editing or advice beyond the usual missing words and noting some instances where the story would benefit from clarification or word changes. The author, on the other hand, has _tons_ of questions for him. She wants to know what he thinks of the characterization, of this particular decision or that one, if she should have done this or that, here or there. What he thinks about the setting, the dialogue choices, even the wardrobe choices. And Jensen, who is usually far too ready to offer advice to help out an author who truly wants it, is being driven crazy by the constant pestering.

By the time he puts the final editing touches on the digital copy and sends it back to Samantha and the author, he’s glad to be done with it, well-written story or not.

It’s around 7pm, which means everyone will be gathering down at the bar pretty soon. He decides to celebrate with a drink.

 

*

He’s coming up on the newsstand and the coffee cart, not thinking about much of anything when he spots a guy up ahead of him in the crowd. He’s taller than everyone around him, with broad shoulders and long-ish dark hair falling past the collar of his suit jacket. Jensen squints, trying to get a better look, and the guy turns his head, looking at one of the stores he’s passing. Jensen only gets a quick glance at the guy’s profile, but he’s completely sure it’s ‘Chad’.

Without thinking about what he’s doing, he speeds up his pace, pushing through the crowd as quickly as he can without knocking into anyone. His progress is slow, too slow, and he’s going to lose the guy if he doesn’t hurry. Desperation urges him on a little faster, and he yells out, “Chad,” hoping to catch the guy’s attention.

The guy doesn’t pause or even hesitate, and why should he? It’s not like Chad is his _real_ name.

Jensen presses on, and finally, _finally_ , he moves past the person directly behind the guy, walking up beside and behind him.

The guy pauses, about to turn and look back at Jensen, and Jensen feels his heart speed up, breath catching in his throat as his stomach does a somersault. For a moment, he’s as terrified as he is excited, and he has no idea what the hell he’s going to say but—

“Whoa,” the guy says as he meets Jensen’s eyes. “You’re…”

Jensen continues to stare at him uncomprehendingly for a long moment.

“Are you okay, buddy?” the guy asks as reality catches up with Jensen’s brain. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

It isn’t him. It’s not the guy from Islas Mujeres. From a distance he could be mistaken for ‘Chad’, but up close, his eyes are too dark, his nose too pointed, face too slender, and his mouth, while not terribly shaped, lacks that certain delicious quality.

“You need me to call somebody for you?” the guy asks, frowning at Jensen in concern. His eyes widen a bit and then focus on Jensen sharply. “Are you having a heart attack?” 

“N-no,” Jensen finally manages, finding his tongue. “I’m… fine.” He takes a deep breath, trying to collect himself. “I just… you looked like someone else from behind.”

The guy frowns at Jensen, half-suspicious, half-still-concerned.

“From behind… you looked like someone I never expected to see again,” Jensen explains.

The guy looks like he still doesn’t quite get what Jensen’s trying to say, and Jensen doesn’t really blame him.

“But you’re... not him. Obviously,” Jensen says, taking a step back and nearly getting knocked over by someone trying to walk past. “Sorry I bothered you,” Jensen adds when he rights himself, lifting a hand and waving fast as he melts into the crowd migrating south.

When he gets to the bar, he takes a moment outside on the landing above it, running a hand over his face.

That was pretty crazy. He isn’t sure what the hell he was thinking, chasing after some random stranger like that. He’d been so sure it was ‘Chad’ he hadn’t even stopped to think—and what was up with that anyway? He really doesn’t want to see the guy again, so why does he keep trying to see him everywhere? 

It occurs to him suddenly that he hasn’t been. He’s been seeing _that_ guy—the one he stopped on the sidewalk—around town, and mistaking him for ‘Chad’.

So it’s not his brain _or_ the universe. It’s all been a stupid coincidence.

He almost laughs, but he can’t quite manage it. It should be a relief, and it is, because now all the weird shit is explained and there’s no pressure. This is exactly what he’s been hoping for.

So why does he feel just the slightest bit disappointed?

He looks down the stairs leading to the bar as another couple walks past him and then down, talking animatedly to each other. He can imagine all his friends gathered in their usual booth, drinking beers and laughing, discussing their day, or maybe arguing about something, or hatching some drunken, ill-conceived plot about what they’re going to do later tonight. Jensen can’t go in there. Because if he goes in there, they’re going to take one look at him and know something happened, and then he’s going to have to explain this to them, and he’s not even sure he can explain it to _himself_ right now.

He flees from the landing, intent on heading back to his apartment. 

 

*

 

“And then…” Jensen says, half an hour later, pausing dramatically.

All of his friends are sitting at the edges of their seats in the booth, their eyes wide with anticipation, hanging on every word of the tale he’s been building up for the last ten minutes.

“He turns around.”

“And, and?” Danny demands, eyes wide and excited and fixed on Jensen.

“Was it him?” Chris asks at the same time.

“He…” Jensen says and then then takes a drink from his beer, licking his lips before he continues. “Wasn’t the guy,” he finishes, sigh escaping him, despite himself.

There’s a moment where they’re all still staring at him, breathless and wide-eyed, like they’re waiting for more—and then they all explode at the same time, talking over each other so fast that Jensen can’t understand any of them.

Finally, Gen slides out of the booth, standing up at the end of the table. She curls her thumb and forefinger inside her mouth and whistles loud enough to bring everyone to a sudden halt, their mouths closing as they stare at her.

“I know we’re all unhappy about Jensen’s extremely unsatisfying ending to the story. But right now, there’s something more important we need to do.” 

They’re all hushed, looking at her as she meets each of their eyes in turn.

“Our very dear friend… Jensen…” she says, gesturing at Jensen, “didn’t find the man of his dreams on the street today. Let’s all just take a moment to think about that,” she goes on somberly, pausing. Around the table, everyone takes a moment to look disappointed.

“And now that we all understand the magnitude of this tragedy…” Gen continues.

“Pull out your wallets and pay up,” she adds, grinning excitedly.

Around the table everyone sighs heavily, reaching for their wallets.

“Wait,” Jensen frowns, confused as he takes a moment to catch up. “You guys made _bets_? I’ve been here the whole time. How did I miss you guys making bets?”

“Wait,” Jensen says again, looking at Gen after Danny slaps a ten dollar bill grudgingly across Gen’s palm. “You bet _against_ me?” he demands.

Genevieve looks momentarily abashed, tilting her head to the side—though it doesn’t stop her from reaching for the ten Chris hands her. “You know how I feel about true love,” she shrugs, “and all that stuff.”

“Wait,” Jensen says, one more time, turning to look sideways at Misha. “You bet _on_ me?”

“It was a strategy,” Misha grumbles, half-whispering at Jensen as he forks over a ten. “I figured if I bet on true love it might work out in my favor.”

Jensen stares at him incredulously. As annoyed as he is at Genevieve right now, he’s not really surprised; she does have a whole thing against true love. “You know she hates that shit.”

“So she _says_ ,” Misha contradicts, turning to look at Jensen, his expression sly. “There’s not a woman alive who doesn’t want true love, Jensen. I had it all planned out.” He throws up a hand, as if to set the dramatic scene. “Against all odds, you find this guy…”

“And even Gen can’t resist the romance of it?” Jensen finishes.

Misha frowns, dropping the drama and looking at Jensen like he’s crazy. “ _No._ Romance would never work on her. Stay with me, dude.” Misha throws his hand up again, re-setting the dramatic scene. “In the midst of her crushing defeat, as she’s paying out against her bet, a little more humbled by each and every ten dollar bill she has to hand out--she has a moment of _vulnerability_. Of understanding maybe she was always _wrong_ about true love not being real. And I was _right_.”

“So that’s when you swoop in and teach her that true love is real? Because I’m not really seeing that happening,” Jensen says, dubious.

“God, Jensen. Have I taught you nothing? _No._ That’s when I swoop in and sweep her off her vulnerable feet, and give her one, long, sweaty night of… perfection.” Misha finishes the sentence with a roll of his wrist and a satisfied smile.

“But then,” Misha says, turning a sudden glare on him. “You had to screw it all up by not finding the guy. Thanks a lot, Jensen.”

Jensen just nods in silence for a moment. “If I pay you ten dollars will you shut up?”

“I don’t need your money,” Misha says, turning away from Jensen and folding his arms across his chest, looking like a little kid whose favorite toy has been taken away.

On anyone else, it would be ridiculous—and okay, it still is, a little bit on the surface--but Jensen’s known Misha a long time.

“You really do like her, don’t you?” Jensen says, marveling, more sure by the moment.

“’Like her’”, Misha scoffs, rolling his eyes at Jensen. “What, are we in middle school? Sending notes like, “Do you like me?” with check boxes for yes or no? Please.”

Misha pauses and then adds, “Do you think that would work?”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Jensen says, trying to muffle his laughter. Gen, Danny and Chris are all distracted by their own conversation, but he’s still pretty sure that if he laughed as loud as he wants to, he’d draw their attention. “You really do like her.”

“Shut up,” Misha hisses, with all the recalcitrant, sulky belligerence of a tween. “I do not.”

“You _do_ ,” Jensen insists, about to start in on a string of teasing Misha about just how much he likes Genevieve when Misha lolls his head to look at Jensen.

“So why’d you chase after that mystery guy on the street today, again?” Misha asks.

Jensen just looks at him for a moment with no idea how to answer that.

“Hey, so, your bottle’s looking pretty empty there. You want another beer?” Jensen asks with a bright smile.

*

 

“You know it wasn’t about the money,” Danny says, chagrined as she hands the cigarette back to Jensen. “We really hoped, you know, that you’d find him.”

“We _still_ hope you’re going to find him,” Chris says.

“Yes,” Danny agrees, “we do.”

“I know,” Jensen says and takes a drag off the cigarette, orange light flaring to illuminate their faces more clearly in the alley behind the bar. 

 

*

 

“I finished editing this romance novel today…” Jensen exhales with a slow roll of smoke, “and it pissed me off. Because it seemed completely plausible. That two people could easily—okay, well not easily,” he amends, “there was conflict… and a raccoon… but they got there eventually, and when they did, it all seemed… right. Like it could really happen.”

“See, and that’s the lie society and culture tries to sell you,” Genevieve agrees, taking the cigarette back from him.

“Right? Like we’re supposed to fall for the first interesting thing that comes along?”

“Totally,” Gen nods.

 

*

 

“What kind of expectations are we giving people, putting out romance novels like this?” Jensen asks, handing the cigarette to Misha and leaning heavily on his shoulder.

“Sexual ones,” Misha says and then nods, taking a drag off the cigarette, looking sage. “Just slightly more than mediocre expectations about sex.” Misha puffs up even as he blows out smoke. “Don’t sell yourself short. The novels you edit make people like me look like gods. You serve a purpose, Jensen.”

“Well,” Jensen says, and can’t help laughing. “I guess there’s that, at least.”

“And hope,” Misha says after a moment. 

 

“I didn’t just bet on you because of Genevieve,” Misha whispers, loud enough for anyone in the entire alley to hear. “I bet on you because you deserve that kind of perfect relationship. Even if it’s only for one night.”

“Don’t make me get all verklempt,” Jensen whispers back, smirking, and Misha claps him on the shoulder.

 

*

 

He goes home at the end of the night feeling pretty good, all things considered. He’s okay with this ending to the story. Not that he ever wasn’t, he thinks, as he tries repeatedly to shove his key into the lock of his apartment. He was always okay with it, but now he’s _really_ okay with it. The universe isn’t yelling at him, and his brain isn’t having hallucinations.

Dammit, fucking key, if it would just stay still between his fingers.

The door to his apartment opens suddenly, and he falls forward, forehead meeting with something soft and yielding.

For a moment, he’s completely confused, and then he pulls back, looking up.

“Miss Miner? Why are you in my apartment?” He takes a moment to try and figure out why his seventy-something neighbor from across the hall would be here.

“This is my apartment,” she says and points across the hall. “Your apartment is over there.”

“Oh,” Jensen says, yanking back from the doorway. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

Yeah, he’s maybe had a bit much to drink tonight.

“Really sorry,” he insists, before he turns and fits the key into his own door.

He hears Miss Miner’s door close as his own door opens and escapes into his apartment. 

Wow. Okay, it’s time to go to sleep, he thinks, rubbing a hand across his face. He’ll just… check his email once before he crashes. 

He sits down at the desk and wakes up his laptop. There’s only one email waiting for him. From C.J. Reynolds. And fuck, seriously?

_Mr. Ackles,_

_I’d like to meet tomorrow afternoon to discuss the details of the novel. Ms. Ferris told me you live in the city. Would you be able to meet me at Jack’s Bistro tomorrow at 12:30pm for lunch? Let me know if that works for you._

_Thanks,  
C.J. Reynolds_

Jensen hates C.J. Reynolds with every single fiber of his being. He’s edited the book, given her all the advice he has to give. What the fuck else do they need to discuss? Besides, it’s 3am—it’s not like he can respond right now and seem responsible, and he won’t be up until at least 9am. And then only because he needs to respond to this woman’s email. 

Jesus, she’s a colossal pain in the ass. But it’s not like he can say no.

Jensen drinks a ton of water, takes two aspirin and goes to bed, grudgingly setting his alarm for 9am.

 

*

 

He and Chad are lying on the beach in Islas Mujeres, hands interlaced as they talk about the constellations, how they’re so different in Mexico compared to the way they look from America. Jensen makes a joke and the guy laughs, full throated, throwing his head back, and Jensen leans in, lets his tongue curl up along the pulse in the guy’s throat.

This. The guy throwing his arms around Jensen’s shoulders as Jensen kisses him, moaning about how he’s been waiting for Jensen to do this all night, and Jensen bites at his lower lip, tells him to shut up.

And then the mariachi band Jensen hadn’t noticed before kicks up their tempo, and he kind of doesn’t care, but then the guy tells him they can’t fuck here, with the whole band looking on.

They could, and Jensen really wants to, but the guy has already moved on, pulling them up from the sand—

His alarm goes off; he groans as he slaps at it blindly.

Dammit, he thinks, thoughts clanging together as he pushes up from the bed. Why can’t he get lucky even in his dreams? A person’s got a right to that much, at least, even if they don’t want it in real life. 

Stupid dreams, he thinks, and thrusts the covers aside.

 

*

 

He answers C.J. Reynolds’ email before he even makes coffee, which is probably a mistake, but he thinks he gets it pretty much right. This isn’t his first rodeo, he’s got some practice.

He’ll meet her for lunch and suffer through her questions with all the diplomacy he can manage. After he has a few cups of coffee, he’ll be able to do that just fine.

He settles back down in front of his laptop, coffee in his hand, and hates C.J. Reynolds to the core. Even more when he sees that she’s already responded to his email, clearly wide-awake and far too chipper. 

“She’ll be wearing a white suit?” he mumbles to himself as he finishes reading. “Yeah, that ought to stand out.”

Well, he’s awake and he’s here, he might as well re-read sections of the novel before the meeting. 

He sighs and sits back in his chair.

 

*

 

“No, I can’t do lunch today,” Jensen says into his phone as he hands the cab driver money and steps out onto the curb. “I’ve got a writer meeting.”

“Is she hot?” Misha asks.

“I haven’t seen her yet, I just got here.”

“Well if she’s hot, make sure you mention your extremely handsome friend who just happens to be in publishing.”

“You’re not in publishing.”

“My blog totally counts,” Misha says, indignant.

Jensen’s fifteen minutes early, figured he might as well be, since he had nothing better to do and he’s been up since 9am. He glances inside the restaurant through the window and doesn’t see anyone wearing a white suit. 

“Yeah, no, it really doesn’t.”

Jensen decides to wait outside and catch a glimpse of the author before she enters the restaurant, take some stock of what kind of person she is before he actually sits down and starts talking to her.

The call waiting on his phone buzzes. It’s Chris. “Misha, it’s Chris calling, gotta run for now.”

“Send me pictures!”

“Bye,” he says and clicks over to the other line. “Hey, Chris.”

“Hey, Jensen. Got time for lunch this afternoon?”

“Can’t.Got a writer thing.”

“Aw, man. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Jensen tilts his head to the side nodding. “Me, too. I’m waiting for her now.”

“Well while you’re waiting, let me tell you about what just happened…”

Jensen listens for a while, scanning the street both ways while he does. He doesn’t see a glimpse of a white suit headed his way though, from either direction or from a cab, and as it gets closer to 12:30, he starts to wonder if she’s going to be late, too, on top of everything else.

“And then the door opens,” Chris says, excited for reasons Jensen can’t even begin to understand, “and guess who walks out?” 

“Lady Gaga?”

“Bro,” Chris sounds offended. “You really think I would call you over seeing Lady Gaga? We’ve seen her like, twelve times between the five of us.”

“Matt Damon?” Jensen asks, looking the other way down the street.

“Eight times,” Chris says, dismissive, pushing past the question. “Think bigger. Think _really_ big.”

Jensen pauses, giving Chris his full attention. “You saw Samuel L. Jackson?” he asks breathlessly.

“Okay,” Chris says, sounding regretful. “Not quite that big.” He sighs. “Damn it, I’m crossing him off the list one day.”

Jensen glances back in the other direction—and there, between a few people dressed in black and navy and gray and a few splashes of color, is flash of white. 

Jensen lifts his head, trying to see over the people walking in his direction. “So who was it?”

“Dude. It was _Bill Murray_.”

“What?” Jensen demands, stunned, and right now nothing exists except the phone against his ear, even if he is still staring at the people moving toward him. “Okay, wait,” he amends, “ we need to talk about your rating system of ‘big’, but… _what_?”

“It was _him_ ,” Chris says, like he can’t even believe it, and Jensen really can’t believe it either.

“So what happened?” Jensen asks, finally as excited as Chris.

“You’re never gonna believe this,” Chris promises.

The crowd moving toward Jensen parts for a moment as it nears him, revealing the white suit and the person inside it in their entirety. Chris’s voice fades to background noise, and Jensen’s pretty sure he forgets how to breathe for a second.

He’s taller than almost everyone around him, and Jensen doesn’t know how he didn’t pick that out immediately, except that he was expecting someone shorter and far more… female. He’s tall, with dark, long-ish hair, skin deeply tanned with wide, high cheekbones and a delectable, perfectly pink mouth.

“…and then we get off the elevator, and there’s this huge room I’ve never seen before--”

“Chris, I have to go,” Jensen says, hanging up on him in mid-run-on-sentence.

He walks forward a few steps, meeting the guy as he pulls off from the flow of people. The guy starts to walk around Jensen for a moment, and then he does a double-take and stops dead, staring at Jensen.

“Oh my God,” the guy gasps, backing up a step.

Jensen takes a step back too when the guy’s features don’t change, echoing, “Oh my God.”

“Misha?” the guy asks, like he can’t believe it.

“Chad,” Jensen breathes.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

“I… wow… you’re…” the guy says, and then falls silent, and Jensen can’t really blame him. Doesn’t mind the silence that falls between them for a few moments that means he gets to stare at the guy for a while longer, uninterrupted.

“What are you doing here?” the guy finally asks.

“I live here,” Jensen answers, and he should really have more to add to that, he’s sure he should, but he doesn’t.

“So do I,” the guy says, like he’s amazed.

Jensen distantly suddenly gets the white suit thing—it really couldn’t be a better complement to the guy’s tanned skin and hazel eyes.

“I…” the guy says, searching for words. “Can I get your number? Because… I’m blown away seeing you, and I _really_ want to just…” the guy hesitates over what he means to say, biting down against his lower lip. And then he goes on, extremely apologetic, “But right now I have a meeting I have to get to.”

All at once—quite belatedly--everything comes together and clicks inside Jensen’s brain. God, he’d been so shocked by seeing the guy he hadn’t even put together the fact that the guy is in a white suit with his meeting here today. That jolts him with another revelation that takes a few moments to pass along from his brain to his mouth. “You’re C.J. Reynolds.”

The guy blinks at him a couple times, and Jensen didn’t think he could look any more surprised than he already did, but there it is.

“How do you--” the guy squints at Jensen, taking a few long seconds to figure it out, and then his eyes go wide. “Oh my God. You’re Jensen Ackles?”

Jensen manages to nod, and it feels weird, hearing the guy say his name, but it feels like something else, too, that he can’t quite sort out right now.

“You edited my book,” the guy goes on, hand creeping up to his mouth. “Oh. Wow. I just…” his hand falls back to his side. “ _You’re_ the grumpy, annoying copy editor on my book?” the guy says like he can’t believe it, corner of his mouth quirking.

“I am not grumpy,” Jensen protests, gruff.

“You do realize how grumpy you sounded just now?” the guy says, like he’s trying not to laugh.

“What about you?” Jensen asks.

“What about me?”

“You’re the annoying, needy, overzealous writer I’ve been editing.”

The guy tilts his head to the side, like he’s thinking that over.

“Yeah. Guilty,” the guy admits, shrugging easily. “It’s my first book.” He pauses and then looks at Jensen with a lopsided grin. “See how easy it is when you just admit it?”

God, this guy.

“And there it is,” the guy says, smirking like he’s just won some kind of prize. 

“What?” Jensen asks, suspicious.

“That really hot thing you do with your mouth whenever you're amused and trying not to show it,” he says and gloats just a bit.

Jensen’s mouth works in a couple different directions as he tries to form a response to that. God, he’s supposed to be here to do a job, and all he can think about is the moment in the restaurant weeks ago when this guy said that to him for the first time. That and how intently the guy is looking at his mouth right now.

And then Jensen gets hit by another memory from that night that leaves him gasping in surprise. “Oh my God, I was _right_. You _are_ an aspiring romance novel writer.”

“I told you it was a good guess,” the guy grins. “Now I know how you came up with it.”

“Wow, this is…” Jensen doesn’t have words for what this is. He’s pretty sure his mind might be blown.

“Yeah,” the guy agrees, looking at Jensen intently.

“So you’re Chad Reynolds?” Jensen hears himself ask, mostly just for something to say, to get the focus off himself, but yeah, he’d also really like to know what to call ‘Chad’. 

“Not even close,” the guy says. “C.J. Reynolds is my pen name.”

Jensen waits, but the guy doesn’t say anything else. “And your real name is..?”

‘Chad’ leans in, so much closer than he should. “Something I’ll tell you on our second date,” he promises.

Jesus, he’s so close, and he smells so good, Jensen can barely think. “Not very fair… when you already know my name.”

“It’s blackmail,” the guy agrees, matter-of-fact. “But if it gets you to go out with me again,” he breathes, “I’m sticking with it.”

Jensen opens and closes his mouth a few times. “I… don’t think I can be your copy editor anymore.”

The guy catches his lower lip between his teeth and shakes his head, amused as he looks directly into Jensen’s eyes. “That’s the weirdest answer to ‘will you go out on a second date with me?’ I’ve ever heard, but I still hear ‘yes’.”

“Yes,” Jensen nods. Wait, God, what is he doing? Why can’t he think? He didn’t even want to see this guy again, he’s given up on relationships, and he’s suddenly just agreeing to go out with him again? “I mean, _yes_ , I’ll think about it,” he manages, looking away from the guy with an effort. “Now that we’re not… professionally involved, anymore.”

“God you’re even sexier when you’re playing hard to get,” the guy says with such sincerity and admiration that Jensen almost feels like he can’t breathe.

“No fair using the full force of your charm on me,” Jensen manages.

“Oh, that’s not full force. _This_ is full force.” 

Jensen’s phone is still in his hand, long forgotten since hanging up on Chris, and the guy reaches down, takes it gently from his hand as he backs up a bit, standing straight.

“Here’s my number,” he says, flipping through a few screens before typing it into Jensen’s phone. “When you’re ready, call me.” 

He hands the phone back to Jensen, leaning in far too close again, his fingers brushing Jensen’s as he presses the phone into Jensen’s palm, lingering there. He holds Jensen’s gaze for a long moment, until Jensen feels like he’s going to burn up with the intensity of it, guy’s mouth so close to his—and then the guy turns his face, letting his cheek glide alongside Jensen’s without actually touching him, lips tantalizingly close to Jensen’s ear.

“See you, Jensen,” he says, low and almost directly in Jensen’s ear before he lets go of the phone and walks away.

 

*

 

It takes Jensen a long few minutes to pull himself together, to wrap his head around everything that just happened, and by the time he does, still feeling a little weak in the knees, the guy is as gone as gone can be.

He still can’t believe it. He takes a deep, steadying breath and leans back against the brick pillar next to the bistro window. He lifts his phone, looking at the contact information the guy left on his phone. 

He expects the name to read ‘Chad’, or maybe ‘C.J.’ Inexplicably there’s just a ‘J’, nothing else. 

_The first initial of his real name?_ Jensen wonders. John, James, Jack, Jerry, Jim, Jacob, Jason, Joshua? 

It could be any one of hundreds of names, he thinks, determined to let it go. It’s not like it matters, anyway. 

_Still. You found him—found him here of all places. Don’t you think that’s a sign?_

Once upon a time, he would’ve. Back when he still believed in ‘Once Upon a Time’. He’s never going to call the guy. Calling him would just open the door to ruining the whole thing.

Okay. Jensen needs a plan. He really, definitely, cannot _ever_ tell his friends about this or they’ll never let it go. He needs to just erase this number and move on with his life like this never happened. He’ll delete the number, take a picture of a random woman on the sidewalk and send it to Misha, then come up with a story about how boring and annoying the meeting was to tell when he sees everyone tonight, and then he’ll be covered.

It’s a good plan.

 

*

 

“So, then,” Jensen says, hours later, pausing dramatically. “The crowd on the street parts, and I get my first glimpse of C.J. Reynolds.”

“Jensen,” Misha interrupts, leaning over his bottle of beer. “You sent me a picture. She was maybe a _five_ , and you’re _gay_. Why are you telling this story?”

“Because…” Jensen says, holding up a finger, drawing out the moment. “ _He’s_ about six foot four, maybe six foot five, incredibly built, with long-ish dark hair and hazel eyes.”

“Not in the picture you sent me,” Misha frowns, pulling out his phone.

“Oh my God,” Danny gasps. “Jensen! It was him.”

“It was him,” Jensen nods, smirking as he picks up his beer and takes a long drink.

There’s a charged pause, and Misha speaks into it.

“Wait, you’re telling me this is a _guy_?” he asks as he holds up the picture on his phone for Jensen’s inspection. 

“So what happened then?” Chris asks, perched on the edge of his seat.

“What did you do?” Danny demands.

Right. “That’s all you get,” Jensen shrugs. “You all will just have to imagine the rest.”

“He--she’s _blonde_ ,” Misha mutters to himself, mystified as he studies his phone. “She doesn’t even have dark hair.”

“Jensen,” Danny says, pronouncing his name in that succinct way that means he’s about to be in trouble. “What did you _do_?”

“He asked me out on a second date, said he’d tell me his real name if I said yes, I said I’d think about it, he gave me his number, and then he left,” Jensen finishes in a hurry and shrugs. “You guys want another beer?”

“So you called him, right?” Danny again, and she sounds like he’d better get the answer right.

“No,” Jensen replies and squares his shoulders. “I didn’t. I’m not going to call him. Remember, that whole perfect night thing? Not going to ruin it.”

Everyone else begins speaking at once.

“Maybe it deserves the chance of being ruined.”

“Wow, you really found him?”

“Her eyes are definitely not hazel.”

“Let me get this straight,” Danny says, expressionless as she holds up a hand to silence everyone. “You finally ran into this guy—had him right there in front of you—and you let him. _Walk away_. _Again_. Not only that, but you have his number and you’re not even going to _CALL HIM_?”

“Perfect. Night,” Jensen iterates. “Never screwing it up.”

“I feel like I came in on the third reel,” Misha mutters.

“I sent you a fake picture,” Jensen finally confesses, annoyed and guilty. “I took a picture of some woman on the street so you’d stop texting me about what C.J. Reynolds looked like, because ‘she’—who was never a ‘she’ as far as I know-- turned out to be the guy I met in Islas Mujeres”.

Misha’s mouth falls open. “Jensen,” he gasps. “You _lied_ to me—sent me false, mediocre pictures of some random woman rather than tell me the truth? I’m shocked.”

“I’m…” Jensen says, uncomfortable as he clears his throat. “I’m really sorry.”

“You should be,” Misha shoots back, looking hurt. “Seriously, you could have at least sent me pictures of an eight or better if you were going to lie. Haven’t I taught you anything?”

Jensen takes a moment and then nods. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I’d say not,” Misha agrees, huffing indignantly.

“So when he gave you his number, did he give you a name?” Danny asks, relentless.

“No. He typed it into my phone with the contact name ‘J’.”

“Jay, like J-A-Y?” Danneel asks.

“No. Just the letter ‘J’.”

“Clever,” Misha nods. “Just in case he wasn’t mysterious enough to talk you into a second date by promising you his name, he left you a clue to make you keep wondering about it long after he was gone.” Misha points the index and middle fingers of his right hand at his eyes and then points them both at Jensen. “Watch out for this one, Jensen. He could be a master.”

“You didn’t even know who I was talking about thirty seconds ago.”

Misha blinks a few times. “I don’t know who you’re talking about _now_.

“How many beers have you had?” Jensen asks.

“Five,” Misha says, hedging. He glances away innocently as Danny cuts him a look. “Ten.” Genevieve narrows her eyes in his direction and he shrugs. “Five… teen.”

“Right,” Danny says. “So, people who are less drunk? Want to weigh in? What do you think, Genevieve?”

Genevieve shakes her head, biting at her lower lip. She looks like she’s about to pass on saying anything at all, but Jensen really hopes she doesn’t, because if anyone’s got his back in this, it’s her.

“Jensen,” Gen finally says, and Jensen sits up straight, eager to hear what she has to say. She takes a few moments to find the rest of her words, and Jensen’s ready to agree with her until she actually speaks.

“You found him. You can’t just ignore that.”

Damn it. She was supposed to be right behind him on this. “Et tu, Genevieve?” he sighs.

“I tried. I really did. But even a hardass like me can’t look at that sideways,” she says and tilts her head, looking at him almost apologetically.

And Jensen can’t ignore that entirely, but he can focus on the obvious. “You’re looking at _me_ sideways right now, I think we should note that,” Jensen says. “For the record.”

“It’s a good look on you,” Misha offers, leaning in closer to her. “You know I bet on him finding this guy?”

“I thought you didn’t know who he was talking about,” Gen says, without bothering to glance at Misha.

“Of course I did,” Misha laughs, rubbing a hand across his face and then leans back beyond Gen’s peripheral vision, mouthing “who?” at Jensen desperately.

“Chris?” Danny asks.

“Jensen,” Chris says, earnest as he looks at Jensen—and then he stops, shaking his head. “I… think you should make up your own mind about calling him.”

“Chris,” Danny hisses.

“I’m serious, baby. It’s his decision. Look, I’m with you on the universe giving him every single signal that this guy is perfect, but we can’t tell him what to do.”

“Thank you,” Jensen says, pointedly. “At least _someone_ is respecting my wishes.”

“Of course,” Chris nods, and then looks over at Danny, muttering quickly, “You did get the number out of his phone just in case he doesn’t call, right?”

“Honey,” Danny whispers back with a grin, “did you forget who you’re talking to?”

Jensen lets his head fall forward, just missing skewering his eye on the mouth of his beer bottle. “I’m going home.”

“Good luck with that—him,” Misha says, clapping him on the shoulder way too hard. Jensen lifts his head, staring at Misha, and Misha’s grin is way too bright. “That… guy….” Misha says, drawing the words out into uncertainty and shaking his head, clapping Jensen on the shoulder again.

“Yeah,” Jensen nods. “I’m definitely going home.” 

 

*

 

He makes good on his word, key clicking into the lock on his apartment door after only a couple tries. The apartment doesn’t feel like ‘Eric’ anymore, and it hasn’t since he got back from his vacation—which is a good thing, except for how much it had sucked paying bills at the end of the month by himself. He’d almost forgotten that feeling of just being able to pay his own expenses. He hadn’t missed it, really, but there is something about it that feels particularly freeing. He’s got _enough_ money, if only barely. He’s getting by.

He strips on his way to bed, clothes left in a haphazard trail through the apartment. He’ll pick them up when he damned well feels like it--okay, tomorrow morning, first thing even before coffee, but right now—he’s enjoying his freedom.

He sets the alarm on his phone, setting it on the night stand and then slides underneath the comforter on the bed.

It’s almost 1am, which isn’t _so_ bad.

He closes his eyes, letting the darkness pull him toward the lull of sleep. But…

‘J’, the contact screen glares at him inside his mind, and Jensen keeps imagining names like poking at a sore tooth.

He pulls his phone off the nightstand, typing ‘J’ into his contact search. It’s not like he’s calling the guy. A text message is an entirely different thing. 

_“Jacob?”_ , his fingers type out, seemingly without any help from his brain before he hits send.

He should go to sleep now. But he doesn’t, holding his phone in his hands, and after a few minutes, it buzzes. 

_“You got a couple letters right.”_

Damn. Which letters?

While he’s considering the possibilities, his phone buzzes again. _“Are you really still awake and thinking about this?”_

Jensen doesn't quite know how to answer that, because clearly he _is_ awake and thinking about this right now, and what's he going to say?

 _“Sorry, wrong number, prank texter, prank texter.”_ Jensen hits send and puts the phone face down against his chest, sighing up at the ceiling. Jesus, seriously? There’s nothing worse than being just drunk enough to be mortified over how drunk you’re being.

It’s maybe a minute later when his phone buzzes against his chest, and he shakes his head, determined not to look at the response to that. Beyond the fact that he so should not be doing this, he needs to _sleep_.

His reluctance lasts all of thirty seconds before he can’t resist the urge to peek at the message.

_“That’s too bad. Was hoping you were that really hot guy I was supposed to have a meeting with, earlier.”_

Jensen slides his jaw to one side, biting down on the inside of his mouth as he types against the screen. _“Hot? What’d he look like?”_

Jesus. Why is he doing this? He needs to go to _sleep_.

_“Gorgeous. Built. Green eyes, flecked with gold, like in a romance novel, except real. And his mouth… all I could think about was kissing it.”_

Jensen sucks in a deep breath. He should stop this, doesn’t even know why he started. But he has to know. 

_“Why didn’t you?”_

_“He’s complicated. Thinks he’s got relationships all figured out.”_

Jensen bites at his lower lip, can’t resist sending another reply.

_“You think he doesn’t?”_

_“I think we need a second date. Just to be sure.”_

God, this guy. For a few long seconds, Jensen isn’t quite sure how to respond to that in a way that won’t lead to him committing or refusing. 

_“I’m sure he’s thinking about it.”_ , he finally sends.

_“I hope so.”_

Jensen’s mulls that over as he leans back against his pillow, and shit, he really doesn’t have much to add, but his brain is still poking at names beginning with ‘J’. 

_“So. Jason? Jack?”_

Jensen’s almost asleep when the answer comes back. _“Sorry, that’s incorrect. Thanks for playing. You do get a chance at this lovely consolation prize, though, which guarantees you the correct answer.”_

Smartass. God, how is he so charming even in his texts? And relentless. 

_“Is it a new car?”_ Jensen texts back, unable to help himself.

_“It’s taller. Darker. More handsome. Already likes you, and your whimsical sarcasm.”_

_“Sounds like a smooth, romantic car. Tell me, has it ever had an instance where this worked out?”_

_“There’s always a first time.”_

Jensen shakes his head at his phone and wishes he’d gone to sleep a long time ago. 

_“My dorktasticromantic cheeseball-ness vs. your whimsical sarcasm—ball in your court.”_

Damn him. Yeah, Jensen’s got nothing.

_“Going to sleep now.”_

_“Night, Jensen.”_

Jensen sets his phone on the nightstand, chewing at his lower lip for a moment before he rolls over and away from the glow of the screen.

They can pick this up later, if Jensen wants. Maybe by then he’ll have a snappy rejoinder.

He snuggles into his bed, burrowing his head into the pillow, awake for a long time after his phone fades out, and thinks about things he really shouldn’t be thinking about.

 

*

In the morning, he wakes to a new book from Samantha, as promised. It’s titled, “I’m a Twenty Year Old Virgin, Please Rip Off All My Clothes and Fuck Me Like the Slut Misogynistic Society Tells Me I Am.” Or that’s what it _should_ be titled, anyway, based on what he skims of the first chapter while his coffee brews. That could actually be the title of quite a few books he’s edited. 

He rubs a hand against his chin, nose filled with the scent of fresh coffee as his eyes fall on Walter and Wilhelmina sitting innocently in the background. 

_They met on a beach, as unlikely as it seemed; a llama and a sea turtle._

He bites at the corner of his mouth, and opens a Word document, fingers hesitating a moment before typing the words into its blank, white screen. The cursor sits there, blinking after the period, slow and steady.

His coffee maker beeps, signaling that it’s done, and damn, he seriously needs coffee if he’s writing sentences into a blank Word document. He minimizes the window and then walks to the kitchen, pouring himself a steaming mug, adding sugar and half and half to it before stirring.

Okay. Today, his world is all about editing… shit. What was it called again? Oh, right. “Hearts on Fire”. Maybe Fifty Shades of Grey is as popular as it is because its title doesn’t contain a romance novel keyword in the title? That’s… not as encouraging a thought as he wishes it was, despite the fact that it’s probably true.

He sips his coffee and heads back to his computer.

“Let’s do this,” he mutters, maximizing the window with the novel.

 

*

 

By the time Danny text messages him about having lunch, he’s so grateful for a break that he can’t say yes fast enough. Yeah, maybe it’s a little bit weird that she wants to eat at Jack’s Bistro, but he figures that’s just Danny being Danny, with the constant reminders about ‘Chad’, ‘C.J.’, ‘J’, whatever. Her pushing has no effect on him.

The bit about telling him to wear his lucky blue shirt is kind of off. Something about needing the extra luck for an interview? Jensen doesn’t really know, or care, but he spends a solid fifteen minutes searching the entire apartment for it with no luck. Which is bitterly disappointing, because he knows it was here before he went on vacation; he’d almost packed it. That means Eric didn’t end up with it.

He decides to wear the green one that’s almost exactly like it, except not as lucky, buttoning it up as he hurries out the door.

 

*

 

Jensen walks into the restaurant, meandering between tables covered in white cloth as he heads to their usual table. He’s sort of on autopilot, texting Chris, thinking about what he’s going to order, and distantly wondering if his blue shirt has ended up in the vortex all his pens, socks and other random items seem to vanish into. 

“I would’ve worn the blue shirt,” he says by way of apology as he pulls out a chair from the table and hits send on his text message, “but I forgot to pay the vortex bill last month.”

“So if you pay it this month, does that mean you get it back?” asks a voice that’s decidedly male, and Jensen’s heart jumps into his throat. For a split second, Jensen thinks he was so distracted that he sat down at the wrong table—and then the guy’s face and voice register all at once as he looks up.

“Because if that’s all I have to do to find all the stuff I’ve lost, that sounds like a pretty good deal.” There’s a smile teasing at the corners of his delectable mouth, despite that he looks almost as surprised as Jensen feels.

Jensen opens his mouth like he has something to say, but he really doesn’t.

“Yeah. I don’t know how this happened either,” the guy offers, “but I can’t say I’m sorry.”

“Why--” No that’s not quite right. Jensen stops, shoving the bent knuckle of his forefinger between his teeth as he ponders. He yanks it away after a moment, with a better, more accurate question. “How are you here?” 

“I thought I was supposed to meet with another editor about my book,” the guy says. “I got a text from them this morning.”

Suddenly, everything becomes clear. Damn it, Danny. “And I thought I was having lunch with someone who’s ostensibly one of my best friends.”

“So one of your best friends set this up?” the guy asks, catching on immediately.

He’s smart, and Jensen’s totally not admiring that at all. He’s thinking about logistics. Jensen can’t leave politely at this point with the guy knowing he showed up for lunch with one of his best friends, and well, if he tried… he’d have to deal with Danny later. He’s here… he may as well just deal with it. Jensen bites at his lower lip ruefully. “She’s pulling for Team One Perfect Night Mysterious Guy.”

Mystery Guy nods a few times. “I like this friend more and more.”

Jensen pushes his tongue against his cheek and picks up the menu. “She’d love to hear you say that.”

“And she’s ostensibly one of your best friends?”

“Possibly former,” Jensen says, nodding across the menu as he opens it. It’s an entirely untrue statement, but delivered with enough annoyed sarcasm that he feels okay with it.

“Best friends usually have a sense,” the guy says. “They’re not always right, but they have a sense.”

A blond guy walks up to their table, his hair cropped short and spiked up on top. He’s dressed in jeans and a blazer over a button down, which really isn’t the most fortunate choice Jensen’s seen on the wait staff here, but he’s pretty hot, even if he doesn’t have the most friendly expression on his face.

“I’ll have the spinach dip to start,” Jensen tells him.

The new guy narrows his blue eyes on Jensen, calculating. “Really? Let me alert the media. Or no—wait—I’ll alert the wait staff. I’m sure they’ll be fascinated by your choice.”

“So…” Jensen draws out the word. “You’re not our waiter, then?”

“Chad,” Mystery Guy grates, and it’s not an affirmation of his own name; he’s addressing the other guy, in a manner that clearly says, ‘Let’s not do this’.

“I’m Chad Michael Murray,” the new guy, who is apparently _actually_ named Chad, goes on, grinning hard and holding out his hand like an invitation to so much bullshit. “His agent.”

“Jensen Ackles.” Jensen doesn’t have much choice other than to grip his hand, shaking it once. “Nice to meet you, _Chad_ ,” he says, looking at Mystery Guy across their clasped hands. 

“Oh. So _you’re_ Jensen Ackles,” Chad says in a tone of voice that immediately draws Jensen’s eyes back to him. It’s… derisive and sarcastically admiring with a touch of, ‘Oh, _you’re_ the person I have to kill’, all in one tiny sentence.

“So… three names,” Jensen says, trying to brighten his expression and failing miserably. “That’s... not at all serial killer of you.”

“I’ll be back,” Chad promises, measuring Jensen with his eyes as he lets go of Jensen’s hand. Chad cuts him a glare as he heads off to the bathroom, and the time between that and the bathroom door closing is an empty silence that Jensen can’t wait to fill.

“That’s your agent?”

“He’s my best friend.”

“That’s your _best friend_?” Jensen asks—because agent is one thing, best friend is another realm entirely. “He’s got the whole, ‘I could kill anyone I want to right now and get away with it’ glint in his eyes.”

“He always looks like that. He grows on you,” Mystery Guy says, with a shrug.

“Like mold?” Jensen asks. “With knives?”

“No,” the guy starts to say, and then stops. “Okay… yeah,” he admits, sighing, “like mold, with knives.”

“You used _that_ guy as your namesake?” Jensen finally asks.

The guy nods, white teeth tugging at one corner of his perfect mouth. “It was the first thing that popped into my head.”

Jensen nods back, feeling almost superior.

“So when do I get to meet Misha?” the guy asks with a grin around the straw of his water glass.

_Shit._

“Misha doesn’t actually exist. I made that name up.” Jensen wishes, fervently, that it was true, and then he shakes his head. “All right, no I didn’t. He’s a friend of mine. But he’s a good guy, at heart. You just have to know him.”

“Sounds a lot like Chad,” the guy says.

“No, I don’t think--”

Jensen breaks off, watching the way Chad walks out of the bathroom, the way he stops and schmoozes not one, not two, but three waitresses on the way back to the table—all in under maybe a minute. Only the final of the three actually rewards him with a phone number, and his cheek is stained red with a handprint from the second waitress even as he grins and accepts it.

Jensen stares, mouth hanging open for a moment. “Okay, _you_ can meet Misha,” Jensen promises, “but Chad meeting Misha? Never.”

The guy just looks at him, gorgeous hazel eyes squinting curiously as he tilts his head.

“I’m pretty sure the universe would implode,” Jensen says in a hurried whisper.

The guy still seems confused, but he nods at Jensen once before Chad slides into a chair beside him.

Chad has apparently—and also, inexplicably, based on what Jensen saw—managed to procure himself a glass of—scotch? whiskey?—which he swirls in his hand, ice cubes clinking against the glass.

“So you’re the island mystery guy,” Chad says by way of opening conversation.

“Perspective is a funny thing,” Jensen laments, all sarcasm. “See. From my perspective, your best friend here is the island mystery guy.”

Chad side eyes Jensen across his glass before he takes a drink. “Perspective is a _relative_ thing. As a writer you should understand—oh wait,” Chad says, like he’s only just thought of it, “sorry—you’re an _editor_.” Chad makes quotation marks around the word ‘editor’ that don’t require his fingers to demonstrate.

Oh, this is so _on_. Jensen sits forward in his seat, ready to deliver an entire speech about what editors know about perspective.

“Chad,” Mystery Guy says, laying a hand on Chad’s shoulder. “This isn’t business.” He tilts his head in the direction of the door, raising his brows at Chad in a subtle way Jensen probably wouldn’t even have noticed if he weren’t watching the guy so intently.

Chad turns on Mystery Guy, glaring. “Fine,” he says, in a tone of voice that Jensen recognizes from his own friends that clearly says, ‘You are so in trouble’, before he pushes up from the table.

“I’ll call you later,” Mystery Guy calls after him, and Chad lifts one hand as he walks away, in dismissive response, thunking his empty glass down on the bar on his way out the door.

“Damn,” Jensen mutters. “I had a whole speech.”

“Sorry for ruining it,” the guy says, not looking sorry at all. “I can call him to come back if you want.”

“Nah,” Jensen says and shakes his head. “I think I'll live.” He hesitates and then adds, “A whole lot longer than I would if you called Chad back.”

The guy laughs, and then shakes his head. “You’re still funny. So, are you hungry?”

Jensen nods and they both pick up their menus, quiet for a moment as they study them. Jensen figures out what he wants and then lowers his menu a bit, risking a glance across it. The guy is also holding his menu halfway up at an angle, his eyes locked on… Jensen’s menu? On the left side?

But before he can ponder that at any length, he notices that the guy is wearing a navy suit with a white shirt, a diagonally-striped, matching tie knotted at his throat. He looks just as (maybe more) completely fucking hot all buttoned up, but… there, just beyond one of the cuffs of his suit jacket, is a woven bracelet, black into orange, orange just disappearing into yellow beyond the edge of navy.

All at once, on top of the surprise that punches him full force in the stomach, Jensen realizes why the guy’s attention is focused on the left side of Jensen’s menu. Jensen looks in the same direction, sees the woven bracelet fading from deep red to navy to gray on his wrist.

“Nice bracelet,” the guy says, easy with his approval.

Which makes Jensen smile, enough at ease to say, “Yeah, I got it from this guy… it’s a hell of a story, really.”

“I’d love to hear it sometime.” He bites against his lower lip, eyes sliding up to meet Jensen’s. “You do know that this counts as a second date?”

Jensen looks down at his menu hard. “So… the spinach dip? You want to share?”

“That’ll just make it more of a second date,” the guy says with a teasing smile. “So yes, absolutely.”

“You know you’re pushing it, right?” Jensen asks him, because, seriously. 

“No. Not really,” the guy says with a grin and a shrug. “After the night we had… even you can’t believe this is all just coincidence.”

It _could_ be coincidence. Sometimes, life just works out like that. You had an amazing time with some nameless guy on an island, and life just has to slap you in the face with how it wasn’t that amazing, because here you are; sitting in a familiar restaurant, with the very same guy. Except it _is_ just as amazing. And life is slapping you because you’re being a dumbass.

Which begs the question—is Jensen being a dumbass?

“You really think this is going to work out?” Jensen asks, serious, unable to believe that the guy believes it. “Be the perfect relationship?”

“I don’t know. This is only our second date,” the guy grins. “But,” he says, turning more serious, if you want my opinion on relationships… We all only ever get one relationship that works out forever— _if_ ever,” the guy says, after a moment, laying a hand on one of Jensen’s. “And I’m pretty sure it’s not perfect all the time. But I think even if it’s not perfect all the time… even if it sucks sometimes, you have to work for it, when it’s worth it. I think that’s just life.” 

His fingertips are touching the bracelet still tied on Jensen’s wrist, and Jensen can feel the circumference of it, ignited with electricity by the guy’s touch. “I think that means… when someone seems like they might be worth it… it’s always worth trying.”

Damn him. Damn him to hell and back, because what he’s saying makes sense, and Jensen really doesn’t want to admit that, even though he’s more than halfway gone at the feel of guy’s fingers on his skin. 

“Jensen,” the guy says, looking at him, thumbing against the knot of his bracelet. “My name… it’s Jared.”

Jared. It’s a good name, a strong name. 

“Jared,” he says, after a moment, rolling the word around his tongue as he leans closer to the guy—toward _Jared_ , and fuck, it shouldn’t be as much of a rush as it is, knowing the guy’s name. 

The guy—Jared—smiles at him, and it’s so gorgeously heart-stopping that it should be illegal in every state or country ever. And then, he tilts his head, looking at Jensen very seriously. “I think…” he says, pausing, and Jensen leans forward a bit more, focused on his every word, “we should…” hesitating, as if what he has to say next is difficult, and then gathers himself, steeling, pushing onward, “…order the spinach dip.”

Jensen blinks as it registers, and then he laughs, full-throated surprise and amusement as he throws back his head. It’s a moment before he can stop, look at the guy and shake his head in resigned amusement. “Yeah, I guess we should.”

Jared is still just staring at him, warmth and surprise and something more reflected in his eyes.

“What?” Jensen asks.

“Nothing,” Jared shakes his head like an afterthought, still looking at Jensen—that look like Jensen’s the only person on the face of the planet. “I was going to gloat about how I was right about the crinkles at the corners of your eyes being even cuter when you laugh.”

“And you’re not, because…?”

“Too busy being mesmerized by the way you get even more gorgeous when you let go and laugh,” Jared says with an apologetic shrug and tilt of his head.

It’s sincere, and amused, and yet still too intense for Jensen to look him right in the eye.

“God,” Jensen says, shaking his head, smile still tugging the corner of his mouth. “You are _such_ a cheeseball.”

“And it’s still growing on you,” Jared says, giving Jensen one of his brilliant smiles.

“Does it get tiring, being this relentless?” Jensen asks, and damn it, he can’t stop trying to smile.

“I have excellent stamina,” Jared assures him, so mock-serious that Jensen can’t help laughing again.

“I like it when you laugh,” Jared comments, smiling like Jensen’s awarded him some kind of prize.

“Incorrigible,” Jensen says and sighs, but he’s still too amused to give the condemnation any sincerity.

They’re interrupted by their actual waiter, who looks nothing like Chad in his button down shirt and slacks, dark hair and dark eyes. They order the spinach dip, and then Jared, who’s far too hot to be looking up at the waiter like that, orders the peppercorn steak. Jensen blinks at him once, even though at this point he guesses he should stop being surprised, and then narrows his eyes on the waiter, clearing his throat to get the guy’s attention. He still looks a bit glazed over as he tears his gaze from Jared’s and looks at Jensen, and damn, maybe Jared just has that effect on everyone.

Jensen opens his mouth to make his order, and then hesitates. He’d decided on what he wanted earlier, but if he orders it now, it’s going to look like… Damn it, he doesn’t have a back-up plan. 

“Peppercorn steak,” he finally says. “Medium rare. Baked potato, everything on the side, and broccoli.” He closes his menu decisively and hands it off. 

“So,” Jensen says when the waiter’s gone, “I guess this is the universe giving us some kind of sign? Both of us ordering the same thing?”

“Or maybe we just both like a good, medium-rare peppercorn steak,” Jared says with a grin and a shrug.

“Oh, I see, ditching out on the cheeseball romanticism _now_ ,” Jensen shakes his head for what feels like the millionth time, smirking. “Come on. Tell me you weren’t thinking it.”

“Maybe,” Jared replies, and the smirk playing at his mouth is delectable and adorable all at once. “What’s more interesting is _you_ were thinking it.”

Damn him. Jensen mumbles something underneath his breath which isn’t at all fit for Jared’s ears, and Jared throws back his head, laughing. And wow, that is one hell of a long, tanned, gorgeous throat.

“You couldn’t possibly have heard what I said,” Jensen says after a moment.

“No, but I got the gist,” Jared says, still more amused than Jensen is comfortable with.

“And you thought it was funny?” Jensen asks, squinting at him.

“I’m not usually a fan,” the guy says with a shake of his head, still smiling faintly,“but curmudgeon works for you.”

“I am not a curmudgeon,” Jensen contradicts. “Wow,” he adds, after a second, hearing himself, “that sounded really curmudgeon-y, didn’t it?”

“Just a little bit,” Jared says, bringing his thumb and forefinger together. “It’s cute, though.”

This guy. “What am I going to do about you?” Jensen asks, corner of his mouth pulling into a smirk as he looks Jared right in the eye.

“Let’s find out,” Jared says, smiling at him as their waiter arrives, spinach dip sending up puffs of steam.

 

*

 

Without any ‘rules’ to hold him back this time, Jared is extremely forthcoming about himself. He moved from Texas to New York a couple years ago, but only recently to Manhattan. He moved here because he visited the city and fell in love with the energy, the architecture, the food, the people, and well, pretty much everything, and Jensen thinks that makes sense, because that’s why he’d decided to go to college here. 

As it turns out, Jared has an undergraduate degree in journalism and a masters degree in Graphic Design. 

“I was drawing from the time I could hold a crayon, and I got really good at it, the older I got. When I got into high school, I started learning web design, too—self-taught mostly. There weren’t courses in it until I got to college. I liked writing, I was good at it, but I always felt like art was my true talent.” Jared shrugs and takes a sip from his water glass. 

“So I’ve been doing website and graphic design for years now, mostly freelance. I’ve occasionally written articles on About.com, if cash was tight. And then about a year ago, I got this idea for a story. And I started writing it… and it was this sort of revelation,” he says, like he’s still not sure quite how to explain it. “It was like magic, the way it came out, the way it came together, and I… fell in love with it.”

Jensen can relate, although he’d fallen in love with it at a much younger age.

“It was like…” Jared goes on, eyes finding Jensen’s, “finding a part of myself I’d never known was missing.”

Jensen stares at him for a moment, caught by the words, how they resonate, how much sense they make, how close they are to the exact words Jensen had said to Chris that first year of college.

“That probably sounds a little bit weird,” Jared adds after a moment, taking in the way Jensen’s looking at him.

“No,” Jensen shakes his head, eyes still glued to Jared’s face. “Not even a little bit.”

“Sounds like you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Yeah,” Jensen nods. “It’s exactly like that.”

Jared looks at him for a moment longer, and when Jensen doesn’t volunteer anything else, Jared looks back down at his plate.

“So,” Jared finishes with a light shrug, picking up his fork and knife, “art is my main talent, but writing turned out to be my passion. Funny how things work out, huh?”

Looking at Jared, thinking about the last couple days of his life, Jensen couldn’t agree more.

 

*

 

Jensen tells Jared how he went to college here, getting his masters in English. How that’s where he’d met all of his current friends, except for Misha, whom they’d all met a couple years ago at a local bar. How they’d bumped into him and he just sort of… never left. How Jensen fell into editing while working at being a writer. He sticks to the facts, keeps it light, and Jared seems to respect that right up to the point where Jensen mentions he hasn’t written anything in years.

“Why not?” Jared asks, gently.

Jensen looks down at the table, thinks for a long moment before he answers, chewing at his lower lip. “Just haven’t been inspired, I guess,” he finally says and shrugs.

Jared is quiet for a moment, and Jensen can sense all the questions he wants to ask, but the seconds stretch on, and he doesn’t.

“So,” Jensen continues, picking up his fork, “editing is what I do.”

“Do you enjoy it?” Jared asks after a pause.

“I don’t hate it. And it pays the bills,” Jensen says with an incline of his head. It’s not much of an answer, but it pretty much says it all.

“Including the vortex bill?” Jared asks, and Jensen can hear the smile in his voice.

“Damned vortex,” Jensen laments, lifting a cube of steak toward his mouth as he looks up and meets Jared’s gaze.

“I like the green shirt,” Jared says, still smiling. “It brings out your eyes.”

Jensen smirks and shakes his head. “Incorrigible.”

 

*

 

Jensen’s phone buzzes and sounds off for the millionth time, and he sighs, finally pulling it out. There are eight texts from Danny, five from Chris, one from Genevieve, and twenty-five from Misha, the most recent also being his.

Jensen bites at the corner of his mouth, and then looks at Jared.

“Your friends?” Jared asks, like he’s just been waiting for Jensen to finally check his phone.

“Yeah,” Jensen nods as another text comes through from Misha.

_Come on, dude. What does he look like? Send me a picture._

“Would it… be all right with you if I sent Misha a picture of you? Because of the five of them, he’s the one that’s not going to stop messaging me.”

Jared considers and then his mouth turns in one of the most adorable expressions Jensen’s seen him make so far—one that says, “what the hell, why not?”

Jensen lifts his phone, hitting the camera icon and snapping the picture before Jared’s expression changes. 

“I didn’t even pose,” Jared laughs.

“It’s perfect,” Jensen assures him, smiling as he sends Misha the picture via text. 

They talk for a bit more before Jensen’s phone buzzes again. Jensen looks down at it, where it’s sitting on the table, and sees the return message from Misha.

_Jensen. That’s a TEN. Take him home right now._

Jensen smirks at his phone and thinks how he and Misha are going to talk about him rating guys at ten later on.

He looks back up at Jared smiling at him and thinks how Misha’s completely right.

 

*

They talk all the way through until they’re done eating, picking at their plates with their forks, both of them too full to order anything for dessert. So they order coffee instead, nursing it until it grows cold, talking about music, and Jensen has to admit; their venn diagram for music tastes has _way_ more overlap than not—in fact, the outside areas are very thin crescents.

Damn. He really does like this guy, and he’s having a _great_ time. He’s also having a really hard time trying not to think about how much he really wants to kiss that gorgeous mouth again, maybe lick a nice slow trail up the pulse in that long neck.

He remembers the text Jared sent him last night-- _And his mouth… all I could think about was kissing it_ \--and wonders if Jared’s been thinking about kissing _him_ the whole time they’ve been sitting here. Which leads him down the road to remembering when they did kiss—the electricity and desperate want between them; Jared’s hands on his jaw tilting Jensen up so Jared could kiss him deeper until Jensen had felt dizzy. It really had been perfect, and Jensen had wanted to take Jared back to his hotel room immediately.

He finds himself wondering now, exactly what that would have been like. Based on the way Jared kisses alone, Jensen’s betting it would have been pretty fucking amazing. He bets it still would be. Okay, he really needs to stop thinking about this, because he’s getting carried away and Jared’s been talking the whole time.

“—and then the sock-headed aliens started to do backflips--” Jared is saying when Jensen starts paying attention again. 

Jensen blinks a couple of times.

“Now, the king of the aliens--Oh, hi, are you back?” Jared asks with a grin. “I’ve been telling that story for a while now.”

“I’m kind of sorry I missed it,” Jensen says, meaning it.

“Where’d you go?” Jared asks, resting his chin against one loose fist, seeming unoffended and genuinely curious.

Jensen’s still in enough of a daze that when he opens his mouth, the truth sort of… tumbles out on its own. “I was wondering if you were thinking about kissing me.”

Jared blinks at him once and then says, “Is that an invitation?”

If Jensen were capable of blushing, he would be right now. Jesus he can’t believe he said that. “I was just… wondering,” he says, hearing how lame the words sound as they leave him. Lame and like lies.

Jared looks at him for another moment, and then he leans closer, says in all sincerity, “From the moment I first saw you until right now this very second, yeah, pretty much constantly.”

“Oh,” Jensen nods, feeling like a complete idiot.

But Jared just smiles slightly, eyes warm and amused, “You dropped your guard for a second. That’s the first time since I saw you again. You doing okay over there?”

He’s being _sweet_ , and Jensen doesn’t really understand why.

“Not… entirely,” Jensen answers, but he’s also not entirely complaining about Jared leaning closer to him.

“You are…” Jared trails off like he can’t quite decide what Jensen is and shakes his head, biting down against his smile.

Their waiter arrives then, setting down the check between them, breaking the moment. Jared grabs it immediately, sweeping it away even as Jensen’s reaching for it. 

“Second date is on me.”

“You paid for most of the first date.”

“I’ll pay for the third one, too,” Jared says, winking at him. Damn it. How is he so adorable and sexy at the same time?

“Who says there’s going to _be_ a third date?” Jensen asks, but he can’t help quirking a smile.

Jared doesn’t say anything, just smiles, enigmatic, as he finishes counting cash to pay the bill.

“What?” Jensen asks.

“Just,” Jared shakes his head once. “This is the third time you fell into my lap out of nowhere. If I can’t convince you to go on another date…” he lifts one shoulder and tilts his head, still smiling as he meets Jensen’s gaze, “I have a feeling we’ll bump into each other anyway.”

“You really have read too many romance novels,” Jensen says, but can’t keep himself from smiling and being impressed by the guy’s confidence.

“Guilty,” Jared nods, and then adds, “like you haven’t.”

“Guilty,” Jensen agrees with a tilt of his head.

Jared closes the leather check case around his cash and sets it down at the edge of the table. He’s opening his mouth to say something like ‘goodbye’ when Jensen gets up from the table, wiping his mouth with the cloth napkin pulled from his lap before he lays it down on the table. “I’ll walk out with you.”

As he leads the way to the door, he’s not sure why he did this—it would have been a lot less awkward to just let Jared leave the table than to say goodbye on the street. But he can’t stop thinking about Islas Mujeres, how if they were there, Jared would be holding his hand right now, murmuring quiet words in Jensen’s ear that would make him want to laugh and kiss Jared all at once.

Jesus. Is he actually buying into this? he wonders as he opens the door to the street.

People are passing by, north and south in a steady, nearly impenetrable stream, but there’s room here, just on the other side of the doorway, beside one of the brick pillars, where he finds himself, looking up at Jared without a clue as to what he’s going to say.

“Do you want to keep going? Go somewhere else?” Jared asks, saving him from starting this. “I’ve got a furniture catalogue at home that’s just waiting for me to finish it, but it can wait a few hours more.”

Jensen’s got a book at home that’s waiting for him that can also wait a few more hours. It would probably be a couple of amazing hours that would end with him taking Jared home with him, and his book would wait at least another day while they did unspeakable things to each other. And he wants to-- _fuck_ he WANTS to--

But that’s not where it would end. This wouldn’t be a one-time hook up.

“I had a great time,” Jensen says.

Jared presses his lips together and nods. “Yeah. Me, too.”

“But I have to get back to editing.”

Jared nods a few more times, looking thoughtful, his hands shoved into his suit pants pockets. And then he leans in toward Jensen, crossing every single barrier of personal space. 

“I’ll be here when you’re done,” Jared whispers, his breath hot against Jensen’s ear, and the way Jared can smile with his voice and be so sexy at the same time is so not fair.

Jensen’s eyes flutter closed, and he takes a deep breath. 

“See you next time, Jensen,” Jared says as he pulls back, and Jensen opens his eyes to see that gorgeous face smiling at him before it turns away, heading toward the curb to hail a cab.

Jensen’s half a beat away from stepping forward, putting a hand on Jared’s shoulder and turning him around when a cab slides up along the curb next to Jared.

Jensen could still stop him, there’s still time. He wants to… but where that’s going to lead…

Better to let him go.

Still, Jensen stands on the street for a few more minutes before he steps out, hailing a cab of his own.

 

*

 

This novel is going to kill him, Jensen decides after the thirtieth time he’s wanted to headdesk.

He’s answered all his friends’ texts, telling them it went pretty well throughout, and in the aftermath of his lunch date, reality seems to have set in. It _did_ go pretty good—well, if he’s honest, better than pretty good, but there’s no way he’s telling them that, because this is never going anywhere except on the train to Single Town all over again, with a LOT of stops along the way to Sex Town, and then a few in Relationship Town and eventually to many, many stops in Disillusioned Town and Why The Fuck Are We Doing This? Town. Which all culminates in a single stop at Fuck This Shit Town, and concludes in Single Town.

None of which stops him from wishing he hadn’t let Jared walk away earlier. Who doesn’t want to go to Sex Town? 

Definitely not these characters, Jensen decides after reading another couple of eyeroll-worthy sentences.

He glances over at Wilhelmina at the edge of his desk, thinks how she’d be grinning and nodding along with him if only she could read this story.

Jensen opens a different document, the one that reads nothing except:

_They met on a beach, as unlikely as it was; a llama and a sea turtle._

He looks at the sentence for a long time before he sets his fingers against the keyboard.

 _The odds were completely against them,_ Jensen types, _a creature of land and a creature of the sea, and yet, there was a commonality that drew them together. A connection that went beyond land or sea, there in the graceful curve of her long throat, in the ducking sways of his head._

This is the most ridiculous story ever, and he is incredibly out practice,Jensen decides, pulling his hands from the keyboard. _This_ is why he doesn’t write.

His phone rings then, and it’s Chris. Jensen answers and tells Chris all about the Relationship Train straight to Single Town, and after Chris adds a few extra stops to the list, he pauses, and says, “You seem conflicted about this. Have you thought about adding a line transfer to this railroad? ”

“I think I just need to get laid,” Jensen sighs.

“No. It’s more than that. You’re into this guy.”

“Maybe he seems… too incredibly perfect to be real, yeah,” Jensen grumbles after a moment.

“Jensen. I’ve never seen you run away from anyone who was interested in you unless you weren’t interested in them. You’re interested in this guy, he seems perfect for you… and you’re _still_ running away?”

Yeah. That seems like a pretty fair assessment of the situation; even if Jensen is loath to admit it. He mumbles something that comes out sounding vaguely affirmative.

“Huh,” is all Chris says, and that’s weird enough for Jensen to pause and focus fully on Chris for a moment.

“What?” Jensen asks, suspicious.

“Nothing, man,” Chris says, and Jensen can practically see him shrug. “So what are you going to do?”

“Edit this book, I guess,” Jensen says, morose, knowing it’s not the answer Chris was looking for.

“You sound like you’re _really_ looking forward to it,” Chris laughs.

“Kill me now,” Jensen agrees.

“See you tonight, bro.”

Jensen says goodbye and sets down his phone. He looks at the bracelet still tied around his wrist, touching the dark threads, lost in thought for a moment. 

Then he sighs, pulling up the window with the romance novel, and goes back to reading.

 

*

 

The rest of his friends besides Chris accost him as soon as he walks into the bar, asking him questions even as they herd him into to the booth. He’s sitting next to Genevieve, Danny and Chris sitting across from him, Misha sitting next to them.

“And you know what he said to me?” Jensen says fifteen minutes later, finally almost done telling the story. “That I’d fallen into his lap three times already, and even if I didn’t agree to go out with him, he was sure he’d see me again.”

“That strikes me as a pretty good theory,” Chris says, not quite looking at Jensen.

“Stranger things have happened,” Danny adds, shrugging.

“This is not like running into Keith Richards,” Jensen says, and then turns, pointing at Chris as he adds with emphasis, “or Bill Murray. Or,” he goes on when Chris opens his mouth, “seeing the abominable snow man.”

“He had blue eyes,” Chris says and nods, self-satisfied.

“Jensen,” Danny cuts in. “This is exactly like that.”

“You set up our date today.”

“I… yes I did,” Danny leans her head toward her shoulder. “But you had a good time,” she says in her own defense, closing her hands into fists. “Come on, Jensen, didn’t you have a good time?”

He really did have a good time. He can’t argue that with her, dammit.

“Yes, okay, I had an _amazing_ time,” Jensen admits with exaggerated annoyance. “But don’t try and tell me it’s like Keith Richards or the abominable snowman. It wasn’t the universe that--”

“Jensen?” a voice interrupts from the edge of their booth.

Jensen recognizes it immediately, knowing what he’s going to see when he turns his head.

Jesus. There’s Jared standing at the corner of their table, gorgeous as he’s ever been, dressed in a plain short-sleeved white button down and a pair of blue jeans that fit him like second skin through the thighs, white spots worn with the push of his muscles against them.

“Okay,” Jensen mutters across the table out the side of his mouth, “who set this up?”

Everyone around him glances up at each other, with, Jensen decides, exceptionally guilty expressions.

It doesn’t really matter, does it? Jared’s here and it’s not like Jensen can ignore him.

“Jared, join us,” Jensen says, getting to his feet and motioning him into the booth next to Genevieve. 

Jared tilts his stupidly gorgeous face to one side and then slides in. Jensen slides in next to him, and wow, that’s _close_ , so close he can feel the way Jared moves against him. But he’s okay, he’s strong.

Jensen makes the introductions around the table and Danny goes out of her way to tell Jared how they’ve heard _so much about him_ so meaningfully that Jensen kicks at her under the table.

“Ouch,” Chris says, frowning at him in surprise. 

“Sorry,” Jensen mumbles.

“So you’re the one that set up our lunch date today?” Jared asks Danny.

Danny’s expression turns suddenly uncertain. “Um, yes?”

Jared bursts into one of his brilliant smiles and leans across the table reaching out to shake her hand again. “Really can’t thank you enough.”

“Anytime,” Danny grins back, shaking his hand. “So…” she says, looking at him and then looking at Jensen. “This is interesting, huh? What an amazing stroke of luck, Jared showing up here, almost like… fate.”

Jensen sticks his tongue out at her.

“Right?”Jared curls his lower lip beneath his upper teeth, looking way too pleased with himself.

“What?” Jensen asks.

Jared unfurls his lip with a shake of his head, smirking unabashedly. “I told you we’d bump into each other again, anyway.”

“You know this is a set-up, right?” Jensen asks. “Did I mention my friends are all puppet masters?”

All of his said friends look appropriately guilty for about five seconds.

“I got an anonymous text about this place this afternoon,” Jared admits. “They might have mentioned you’d be here tonight.”

“Wasn’t me,” Danny says when Jensen’s gaze falls on her.

The only person more calculating than that is Misha, so Jensen glares at him instead.

“You sent me his picture,” Misha shrugs.

“So?” Jensen asks.

“So I uploaded it to Facebook,” Misha says loftily, lifting his hands and making a ‘duh’ expression.

“Wait…” Jensen says, “don’t you have to have to be friends with him for it to tell you who he is?”

Misha rolls his eyes so far back in his head that Jensen can see the whites. “I have a _lot_ of Facebook accounts, Jensen.”

“So that actually worked?” Jared asks, leaning forward, interested.

Misha pushes a hand through the air making a dismissive sound. “Hell no. Most of my friends are women.”

“And?” Jensen asks, impatient, extending all the fingers of both hands toward Misha, palms open toward each other.

“Oh, right,” Misha nods. “I sent it to Genevieve.”

Everyone in the booth rolls their heads in Gen’s direction. She sips at her drink innocently without looking up at any of them. 

“Gen,” Jensen prompts.

“What?” she asks with a too-casual shrug, barely glancing in Jensen’s direction. “I did nothing,” she shrugs again, looking back down at her drink.

“My very close, dear friend Genevieve,” Jensen says to Jared without looking away from Gen, voice dripping with sarcasm and emphasis, “works for the _FBI_.”

“Really?” Jared asks, lips pressing together and curling downward as his brows rise in an expression that says, ‘huh’. Jared looks over at Genevieve with an expression of curiosity. “What do you do there?”

Genevieve cuts him a sideways glance. “It’s classified.” She favors him with a quick grin that would make a lesser man move several seats away—possibly to the other side of the bar.

To his credit, Jared doesn’t. Jared just nods slowly as he digests that, and then says, “You should meet my friend Chad.”

Jensen almost bursts out laughing—and then the true horror of that statement hits him completely.

He grabs Jared by the shoulder, whispering fervently, “All we know for sure is she got a degree in Computer Science in college, and now she carries a gun. Professionally.”

Jared catches his lip beneath his upper teeth again and nods slowly before looking at Gen very directly. “You should _definitely_ meet my friend Chad.”

“Who’s Chad?” Gen asks, finally paying real attention to Jared.

“Yes.” Misha leans in from across the table. “ _Who’s Chad_ , Jared?” Misha repeats, eyes narrowing on Jared.

Jared opens his mouth to answer, with no idea of what he’s about to step into, when Danneel finally speaks up, smiling way too brightly as she asks, “Who needs a drink?”

“Oh, me,” Gen says.

“And me,” Chris adds, holding up his empty bottle.

“Great,” Danny grins and nods. “I’ll get right on that. Be right back.”

She takes two steps past the table, long enough for everyone to get back into conversation, and then grabs Jensen by the shirtsleeve from behind.

“Okay,” Danny whispers harshly into his ear, “he’s amazingly gorgeous, probably perfect for you, and he gets major points for not being scared off by Gen, but Jensen, you need to make him stop trying to fix Gen up with anyone. Because Misha--”

“Likes her, I know. I’m on it,” Jensen answers in a sharp whisper, yanking away from Danny and straightening his shirt. 

He can feel Danny’s blink of surprise that he’d had a clue, and takes just a split second to preen.

“You better be. We’ll talk about it later,” she adds in another harsh whisper before heading to the bar.

“So who’s Chad?” Gen asks Jared again.

“Hey, remember that time I woke in up the middle of the street without my pants?” Jensen asks.

Gen looks at him sideways, and Misha frowns at him, and he’s got their attention, even if it is (well, mostly) a bullshit story. All he has to do is—

Someone bumps into him hard, shoving into the booth beside him with a glass of liquor already in his hand.

“So. What are we talking about?” Chad asks.

Jensen blinks at him a few times and then looks over at Jared—whom he’s now squished up tight against since the bench seats are really only made to hold three people comfortably. Jared mouth pulls downward, showing teeth this time, brows rising at the same time as he turns his hands upward.

“I didn’t tell him where I was going,” Jared says, voice barely above a whisper.

“Amateurs,” Chad mutters under his breath without looking at either of them. 

“So,” Jensen says, clearing his throat. He pastes on an overly bright, fake smile as he looks at everyone and extends a hand in Chad’s direction. “This is _Chad_ , everyone.”

 

*

 

It goes about as well as Jensen expects it to. Twenty minutes later, Chad and Genevieve are standing by the jukebox, deep in conversation while Misha sits in the booth, glaring daggers at Chad. He’s joined Jared and Jensen on their side of the booth so he can watch them.

“Look at him.” Misha makes a disgusted sound in his throat.“His moves are _amateur_ at best, and on someone like Gen? Completely hopeless. You need the whole master playbook to land a woman like that.”

“I’m really sorry,” Jared offers, from the other side of Jensen, leaning in further toward the center of the table to see Misha.

Misha cuts his eyes to the side, frowning, and then looks up, like he’s trying very hard to figure something out. “Jensen?” he asks after a moment, like he’s truly confused. “Did you hear something? I swear it sounded like someone talking.”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “Come on, you can’t blame Jared for this. He didn’t even tell Chad he was coming here.”

“Jared… Jared… Jaaaa-red…” Misha rolls the word off his tongue a couple more times, like he’s trying to jog his memory, shaking his head. “No… I don’t know anyone named Jared.” He stops then and snaps his fingers. “Oh right, I met a Jared once, for like, five minutes. And then he died. It was very sad,” he nods vigorously.

Jensen quirks a smile at that, unable to help himself, and then shakes his head. “You know it wasn’t his fau--”

“Dead to me,” Misha proclaims, abruptly.

Jensen bites at his lower lip and turns to Jared with an apologetic smile. “He does this sometimes. He always calms down and gets over it.”

“You sure?” Jared asks with a skeptical glance in Misha’s direction.

Jensen just looks at Jared for a moment. “Last year? He actually held a funeral service for me.”

Jared puts a hand to his mouth with an expression like he wants to laugh but he isn’t sure whether or not Jensen’s messing with him.

“It was a beautiful ceremony,” Misha exclaims from the other side of Jensen.

Jensen keeps his face deadpan. “True story,” he nods, holding up a hand.

“Wow,” Jared says, choking laughter, nodding and clearing his throat after moment. “Okay,” he nods, still trying to collect himself. “Your friends are a little bit…”

“Crazy?” Jensen offers.

Jared thinks for a moment tilting his head side to side, “I was gonna go with quirky.”

“But you meant crazy,” Jensen smiles.

“Maybe. But I kind of like it.”

“Well, you _are_ best friends with Chad,” Jensen says in a ‘duh’ tone of voice, still smiling.

“Game, set, match,” Jared says after a moment, with a nod and a grin, and damn him for being so goddamned beautiful and funny and charming.

“Oh no. He is _not_ \--He’s pulling out the big guns,” Misha says, frantic, and Jensen can feel him getting ready to move.

Jensen turns to grab him—and suddenly Danny’s standing there with a fresh beer, laying a hand across Misha’s shoulder and settling him back down into the booth.

“I got this,” she tells him, patting him lightly.

“Have another drink, buddy, enjoy the show,” Chris says, moving out from behind Danny and sliding into the booth across from them, pushing a beer in Misha’s direction.

“Oh Danny,” Misha says, looking up at her in horror. “You’re not…?”

“Yes,” Danny nods with a self-satisfied grin. “I am.”

“Oh _Danny_.”Misha shakes his head, as if in shock. “That’s… just not _fair_.” He pauses, as if trying to find words for how horrific it is—and then breaks into a full-fledged grin, reaching up and grabbing Danny’s hands. “I love you.”

Danny accepts his response with a gracious incline of her head. “I know,” she says, and then sets off in the direction of Chad and Genevieve.

“She’s not going to… hurt him, is she?” Jared asks, leaning in toward Jensen.

“No,” Chris shakes his head. “She’s just going to go over there and tell the two of them how cute they are, and what a perfect couple they’re going to make.”

Jared hesitates, curling his lower lip under his teeth. “That doesn’t sound…”

“And then,” Chris says, taking a drink from his beer, “she’ll tell them how they remind her of me and her when we first met, almost eight years ago.”

“That still doesn’t…” Jared pauses, thinking that through.

“And how we haven’t had sex with anyone else ever since then,” Chris goes on, smirking.

Jared just stares at him for a moment, and then shakes his head. “That’s _brilliant_.”

“Simple and efficient,” Chris agrees easily, smiling as he clinks the neck of his beer bottle against Jared’s.

“It’s _evil_ ,” Misha chimes in. “Evil _genius_ ,” he grins, leaning inhard against the table and watching the scene across the room raptly.

“But how do you guys know that’ll work on Chad?” Jared asks.

“We’ve had a lot of practice,” Jensen answers, with a pointed look at Misha.

“Works every single time,” Misha says with an admiring shake of his head, riveted on watching Danny talk to Chad and Gen.

“Your friends aren’t crazy,” Jared says, looking at Jensen. “They’re diabolical.” 

“I tried to tell you,” Jensen replies as he meets Jared’s eyes. 

“I’m kind of used to it,” Jared says with a glance at Chad, mouth tugging in a rueful smile as he looks at Jensen again. And he can stop being so fucking perfect any second now.

“Aaaaand, Chad’s leaving,” Misha says, thumping his hand against Jensen’s shoulder in a quick rhythm. 

“As if there were ever any doubt?” Chris asks.

“Classic,” Misha says, lifting his hand for a hive five with Chris.

Jensen’s still looking at Jared, completely aware of what his friends are doing, even if he isn’t part of it. “Are you _trying_ to be perfect?” he asks Jared in all seriousness.

“Just being me,” Jared says, leaning closer to him. 

“You do have flaws, though, right? You _are_ human?” Jensen asks, unable to keep the teasing note from his voice.

“I do have a terrible habit of chasing after people who try to run away from me,” Jared says, giving him a charming, crooked smile. 

“Uh huh,” Jensen nods, and figures he’s probably doing that thing with his mouth right now that Jared seems to find so hot. “So, the ‘hard to get’ thing, like a flame to moth for you?”

“Not always,” Jared says with a slight tilt of his head, never looking away from Jensen with those intense eyes. “Only when the flame seems particularly worth it.”

Jensen should really stop, but seriously, _this guy_. His voice is husky as he asks, “Worth getting singed over?”

“Worth getting burned,” Jared corrects him, gently, leaning even closer, and God, he smells so good, different from when they were on the island, but still amazing, sweat and soap and cologne and _him_.

Jesus. Jensen’s suddenly reminded there’s a whole world that exists all around them. He presses his lips together and pulls back a couple of inches, taking a breath and resettling himself in the booth. 

“Too intense?” Jared asks, and there’s a look in his eyes, something... almost regretful?

“A little bit,” Jensen nods, still trying to decipher Jared’s expression.

“Jared,” Chris says, leaning across the table and setting a hand on Jared’s forearm. “You mind if I borrow Jensen for a bit?”

“Go for it,” Jared answers after a moment, smiling at Chris. “As long as you plan on bringing him back.”

“Promise,” Chris smiles in return. “Most likely even in one piece,” he adds, like it’s generous of him, and Jared laughs.

Before Jensen has a chance to try and understand what just happened there, Chris is pulling him up from the booth.

 

*

 

“I’m the one that sent Jared the text,” Chris admits, passing the cigarette back to Jensen as they stand side by side in the alley behind the bar.

“You?” Jensen asks, so surprised he stops in mid-drag. “I didn’t suspect you at all.”

“Yeah, I know I said we should leave it up to you. But Jensen, after the conversation we had earlier, I started thinking. If after all this, you’re still running away from Jared… that means he’s different.”

“I am not running away,” Jensen says, exhaling. “I’m just not doing dead-end relationships anymore.”

“Yeah,” Chris nods, grabbing the cigarette back, flicking the ashes from it. “So you keep saying. But Jensen,” Chris takes a long drag, leaning his head back against the brick as he exhales, shaking his head. “You were bringing your a-game flirting in there just now before you backed off. The kind where even Misha sits back and watches you with admiration.”

“I… I was just…”

Chris hands him the cigarette and then takes up where Jensen’s train of not-very-much-thought left off. “I know you don’t want to hear this—but there’s every chance in the world this could work out. And I think you know that.”

If it was anyone except his best friend, he’d probably dismiss it, but this is Chris, and Chris is not only just his best friend; Chris almost never steps in. Jensen takes a lengthy drag off the cigarette, staring at Chris as he lets that work through him. Is that true? Is there part of him that believes this could really work out? It feels like it could be true.

“The real thing is always scary in the beginning,” Chris says. “Sometimes, the real thing is scary even after the beginning.” There’s an odd note in his voice, and Jensen turns to face Chris. Chris reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny box, opening it for Jensen. A diamond glitters from within the confines of velvet. “I’m going to ask her at dinner next weekend, on our eight-year anniversary.”

“Oh my God,” Jensen breathes, cigarette thrown to the ground as he grabs Chris in a hug. “Congratulations, it’s about fucking time, man.”

Chris hugs him back, hard, smiling. “Thanks.”

When Chris finally pulls back, he still looks happy, but serious as he regards Jensen. “It’s taken me a while to work up the nerve. We all have our doubts sometimes. But she’s the one. And I would never have known that if I hadn’t taken the chance and gotten through the scary beginning parts.”

Jensen nods his understanding, thinking about what Chris is telling him. 

“Give it a chance, Jensen,” Chris says, closing the box, pushing it back into his pocket. “Quit fighting it.”

“I’ll think about it,” Jensen promises.

“Good.”

They stand there looking at each other for a moment.

“Oh my _God_ you’re getting engaged,” Jensen exclaims, grabbing Chris in another hug.

“I know, right?” Chris laughs, sounding just as excited as he grabs Jensen, spinning them in a circle. 

“This calls for a celebration,” Jensen says, letting go of him, grin plastered on his face as he backs up a step, putting his hand on Chris’s shoulder. “We are going back inside that bar right now and we are _all_ doing shots for the rest of the night.”

“But I haven’t asked her yet,” Chris says. “What are we going to tell everyone we’re celebrating?”

Jensen draws his hand into a loose fist, chin settling in between his thumb and the side of his forefinger pressed against his lips as he thinks. “Got it,” he says after a moment.

 

*

 

“You… really edited the last book in the Fifty Shades of Gray series?” Danny frowns in confusion as Jensen brings an entire tray of shots to the table.

God, this hurts, because he’s sure that series didn’t even _have_ an editor, but he can do this for his friends.

“I didn’t believe it either, and then this week? The check came,” Jensen says, setting the tray on the table, thankful that neither Danny nor Gen will ever read the series and never know any different.

“Why didn’t you say something while you were--?” Danny starts to ask and Jensen cuts her off, shoving a shot in her hand.

“Just celebrate with me,” he pleads, on the edge of exasperated.

Danny looks at him for a moment before she breaks into a smile, lifts the shot glass in the air and tips it back.

 

*

 

It’s a couple hours and countless shots later and Jensen is leaning back against the short span of wall between the women’s and men’s bathrooms, waiting for whoever’s been in the men’s bathroom for the last five minutes to emerge. Back at the booth, which he can see from his vantage point, his friends are still tossing back shots, happy as Jensen’s ever seen them, Danny leaning into Chris, whispering in his ear, both of them laughing helplessly, Misha with an arm around the booth behind Gen as they both talk, breaking into laughter as they lean in toward each other, and Jensen loves them all so much. 

God, he’s had too much to drink, but it’s still true.

And there, there’s Jared, who’s smiling, completely enthralled as he watches Jensen’s friends. 

Jared. Jensen’s spent most of the last couple hours pressed up against him, leaning on him heavily at times when he was laughing too hard, Jared smiling at him indulgently every now and then, the two of them flirting between Jared talking to his friends, and unsurprisingly, Jared fits right in.

The bathroom door opens then, guy brushing past Jensen in a drunken sway. He nods at the guy belatedly and then slips inside. When he opens the door a minute or two later, there’s another guy standing outside, waiting for his turn.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Jared says, eyes squinting at Jensen in a way that’s so damned sexy that Jensen wants to demand how he even exists.

His first instinct isn’t to pull back—not even a little bit—but he can still hear Chris’ voice inside his head. 

_Give it a chance._

Actually, it’s kind of private back here—more private than it is at the booth, and Jensen’s thinking that’s a good thing right now. “Go,” Jensen says with a nod of his head toward the door. “I’ll be here.”

“I... don’t actually have to go,” Jared admits with a smile that’s rueful and hopeful all at once, and God, he’s so fucking gorgeous and adorable.

Jensen only hesitates a moment before he smiles back knowingly, stepping closer. “So why are you here?”

“Asks questions he already knows the answers to,” Jared says as if reaffirming the fact, and grins, looking down at Jensen.

“Right now he calls it flirting,” Jensen smirks. “He’s also had a lot of shots and thinks you should humor him.”

Jared chuckles, sliding another step closer to Jensen, and now they’re maybe one step apart. Jensen’s pretty sure from the expression on Jared’s face, he’s probably thinking about kissing Jensen right now—God knows Jensen’s sure thinking about it.

“The answer is yes,” Jared says, voice low, and Jensen blinks once in surprise.

“Wow. You just read my mind, didn’t you?”

“Lucky guess,” Jared says with a satisfied smile.

Jensen thinks about that for a second, and then says, “Earlier, at lunch, when I asked if you were thinking about kissing me… you said…”

“From the moment I first saw you until right now, _this_ ,” Jared emphasizes the “now-ness” of the word, “very second?”

“Yeah,” Jensen says, suddenly uncertain. “You… you were exaggerating, right?”

Jared tilts his head back, thinks about that for a moment. “Maybe not every single second, but at least…” his head sways back and forth like he’s weighing numbers and then he let his chin drop, looks Jensen in the eye and nods, “five, six… hundred times a day.”

Jensen thinks the alcohol probably softens that revelation for him. He raises his brows at Jared in mock-offense. “Not every single second?”

“Only when I’m with you,” Jared admits like an apology, except his eyes never leave Jensen’s and he doesn’t look the least bit sorry.

“So…” Jensen’s just too drunk to help himself, “During the sock-headed alien story?”

Jared nods again, grinning. “The whole time. You should have heard the ending I had planned. Your lips brought about galaxy-wide peace between the sock-headed aliens and the humans.”

Jensen tips his head back, laughing. “Man,” he says, shaking his head when he looks at Jared again, “I _really_ wish I’d heard the whole story.”

“It was a good one,” Jared agrees, but the intent look in his eyes says he doesn’t give a damn about the story right now.

_Quit fighting it_

“So…” Jensen takes a step closer to Jared, fingertip trailing down the buttons of Jared’s white shirt, biting down on his lower lip as he looks up at Jared. “You’re with me right now.”

Their mouths are maybe two inches apart, and Jared’s eyes span that distance before looking at Jensen again. Jensen can see a muscle flex in his jaw, the heat building in his eyes before he speaks. “Is _this_ an invitation?” he whispers, voice rough with want.“Because my answer hasn’t change--”

“God, shut up,” Jensen breathes, stepping into the space between them, lifting his face, lips meeting Jared’s.

“Thank God,” Jared whispers and grabs him by the shoulders, pulling him in closer, mouth opening eagerly, tongue surging to meet Jensen’s, so wet and hot and _sleek_. He tastes sweet, tongues tangling in a perfect slide, hands gliding up Jensen’s shoulders, thumbs dragging twin lines up the pulse in Jensen’s throat, sinking into the soft skin beneath his chin, fingers fanning out in a slow bloom across his cheeks, fingertips sinking in, tilting Jensen up, kissing down into him.

Jensen can feel everywhere their bodies are touching, the heat and electricity flowing through them into each other, slides his hands up into the tangle of Jared’s hair at the base of his neck, and pulls him in even deeper.

This guy, almost a complete stranger, and he kisses Jensen like he’s always known how, teeth biting at Jensen’s lower lip, tongue licking across the edge, then sliding back between, circling slow, trailing off to lick the inside of Jensen’s mouth almost lazily, tasting and tracing everywhere like he’s got every right and all the time in the world to do it. It’s criminal, and _perfect_ , and fuck why has he been fighting this?

Jensen breaks away with an effort. “Your first name…” Jensen shakes his head, looking into Jared’s eyes, “it’s not enough.”

“I’d say my middle name would cost you another kiss,” Jared breathes against his mouth, “but then I’d feel like I was just--”

Jensen kisses him again, grabbing at the back of his head, fingers catching in the long strands of his hair, pulling him in tighter, and Jared ‘mmphs’ into his mouth, sinking into the kiss, tongue sweet and smooth as melted butter and twice as slick, the rest of him solid muscle and tugging hands. God, he feels so _good_.

“Tristan,” Jared breathes, barely pushing apart from him.

“If I take you back to my place, would you tell me your last name?” Jensen asks, barely able to catch his breath. 

Jared’s breath seems to catch in his throat for a moment, surprise and something darker, hotter flickering in his eyes. “It’s Padalecki,” Jared breathes, kissing him again, tongue sliding between Jensen’s lips and circling his.

“So you _don’t_ want to go back to my place?” Jensen asks, confused when he can pull back, think again.

“No. I… I want to go back to your place, so much,” Jared whispers, hands running down the length of Jensen’s spine like he’s feeling out the muscles beneath his clothes. “God, you don’t even know. But my last name isn’t a condition on that. No conditions on it, no more games. I just want you to want it,” Jared says, lips brushing Jensen’s as he breathes out the words. “Really want it.”

Jensen just looks at him for a moment. “Does, ‘I want you so bad I’d tear off all your clothes right here if I didn’t think we’d get interrupted’ work for you?” Jensen asks and then bites at Jared’s lower lip.

Jared moans into his mouth. “God yes,” he whispers raggedly, kissing Jensen so deep for so long that Jensen feels dizzy with it by the time Jared pulls away again.

“Are you going to tell them?” Jared asks with a glance at Jensen’s friends.

“No. No time to waste,” Jensen whispers, smiling, and Jared smiles back. 

Jensen slips his fingers through Jared’s fingers, lacing their hands together, and pulls him toward the back door, the two of them slipping out into the night, still smiling at each other.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

They make it back to Jensen’s apartment, pausing in between all three blocks to make out before they get there and fall inside, Jared reaching to grab and move him toward the couch. They stop somewhere in the middle of that struggle, kissing like teenagers, Jensen’s back hitting the floor, just grazing off the couch and so not caring.

“Sorry,” Jared whispers against his mouth without letting go of him even for a second. “Do you wanna move?”

“The floor is plenty comfortable,” Jensen says quickly, kissing up into Jared, and Jared feels so good, rocking into Jensen as Jared grips his face and holds on tight, biting at Jensen’s lower lip. Jared chuckles into him and then kisses down deeper, thigh rubbing up between Jensen’s legs, sending a jolt of pleasure through him.

“The floor is _underrated_ ,” he adds in a rush, clenching fists in Jared’s clothes.

Jared breathes out what sounds like agreement, hands sliding between them, working at the buttons on Jensen’s shirt. Jensen’s running his hands down Jared’s spine, palms sliding over the curve of his ass and squeezing. Jesus, perfectly round and so tight, muscles feel so firm he _has_ to work out at least five days a week, and Jensen groans at the feel.

That’s when the overhead light in his living room flicks on.

Jensen and Jared break apart, breathing heavily as they look at each other in surprise and confusion for a second before Jared turns his head, and Jensen cranes his neck, trying to see around Jared’s massive shoulder.

“Hey, _Jensen_!”Misha exclaims brightly as he sways drunkenly inside the doorway. He’s got one hand half-raised in greeting, grinning and looking at Jensen like Jensen’s the greatest discovery he’s ever made. “I was wondering where you went. I missed you.”

“I’ve been gone twenty minutes,” Jensen says, disbelieving and annoyed. “And I’m a little busy,” he adds with emphasis, indicating Jared with a sweep of his hand, wondering how Misha could have missed the gigantic, muscular, gorgeous guy lying on top of him right now.

“Oh, hey, Jared,” Misha adds, as if only just noticing him.

“Hey,” Jared replies, uncertain, and then swivels his head to look back at Jensen, still confused but looking vaguely hopeful.

“I told you he’d get over it,” Jensen confirms, and Jared’s mouth curves in a faint smile.

“So what are you guys doing?” Misha asks, taking a few more staggering steps inside the apartment.

“Baking a cake,” Jensen sighs and rolls his eyes, and he’s pretty wasted himself, but Misha’s clearly annihilated.

Misha stops staggering, then, blinking, eyes heavy lidded with alcohol and confusion.

“Misha,” Jensen says, voice bright as he catches Misha’s eye.

“Yes, Jensen?” Misha slurs through a happy grin, weight shifting unevenly between his feet as he looks at Jensen.

“Get. Out,” Jensen growls and glares.

Misha blinks, looking at Jensen and Jared on the floor and frowning for a long moment. “Oooooh,” he finally says, face lighting up in a ridiculous, exaggerated expression of understanding as he points at them. “You’re…”

“Yes,” Jensen hisses, exasperated and still disbelieving. “Now _leave_.”

“Oh, right,” Misha says, catching on after a moment, giving Jensen a ridiculously drunken wink. “Gotcha. I just need to use the bathroom and then I’ll be out of your...” he pauses as if he’s trying to recall the right word, squinting hard up at the ceiling with one hand half-raised in the air. “Hair,” he adds with pleased certainty after moment, giving Jensen a bright grin and a thumbs up.

Jensen sighs and lets his head fall back against the floor with a thump.

“Maybe we should…” Jared says, glancing at the couch, and Jensen grudgingly nods agreement.

Jared pulls away from him, sitting down on the couch and Jensen follows suit, settling in close beside Jared as he watches Misha stagger to the bathroom. It takes what feels like an eternity, and when Misha gets there, his whole body bounces off the doorframe _hard_ and he stumbles, hands pin-wheeling through the air, almost going down.

“Does he need… help?” Jared asks with a frown.

“Hey buddy, you need help? No? Okay, great,” Jensen calls out without pausing for an answer. “See? He’s fine,” Jensen assures Jared with a fake smile.

Jared shakes his head and huffs out a laugh.

“God,” Jensen says without stopping to think, “You are so stupidly gorgeous.”

Jared stops, just looking at Jensen with faint surprise, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah?”

Jensen nods in a slow exaggerated way that says, _oh hell yeah_. “You’re so gorgeous that it’s _literally_ stupid. And that’s coming from an editor. But wait, hang on, don’t just take my word for it--” Jensen looks around the empty room and half-raises his hand. “Everyone here who thinks Jared’s stupidly gorgeous, raise your hands.” Jensen looks around the room, nodding every now and then as he pretends to take in the scene and count hands, and has to bite down on a laugh when he sees Misha’s raised arm sticking out beyond the edge of the half-open bathroom door.

“See?” Jensen says, throwing one hand from his lap to almost chest level, fingers spreading out quickly before they close again and he lets it drop.

Jared’s laughing quietly, running a hand along his jaw before he looks at Jensen and shakes his head again, eyes twinkling with warmth and amusement. “So this is what you’re like when you’re not busy being a curmudgeon?”

“Oh, it gets better,” Jensen promises, nodding. “Wait until you see my mime impression.”

“Looking forward to it,” Jared smiles back at him. “Funny how you never mentioned me being gorgeous before.”

“Like you need telling,” Jensen scoffs, smirking at him.

Jared looks at him for a moment and then shrugs, nodding and smirking in return. “Yeah. I just think it’s funny you never mentioned it before,” he says, smirk threatening into breaking into a grin.

Jensen chuckles, and fuck, he really is heart-stoppingly gorgeous, those eyes, those cheekbones, that luscious mouth, the way he smiles so easily. The way he has to know he’s at least good-looking without being the slightest bit arrogant or narcissistic about it. 

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” Jensen says leaning in closer to Jared.

“I was starting to think maybe you were legally blind,” Jared jokes, grinning.

Jensen laughs, and then moves to close the space between them.

Jared meets him before he’s even halfway there, hands sliding up into Jensen’s hair and pulling him into the kiss, lips parting, tongue flickering across the swell of Jensen’s lower lip and then diving inside, catching Jensen’s in a slow, swirling curl. Jensen opens a little wider, making a helpless sound into Jared’s mouth, fingers climbing into the long, thick strands of Jared’s hair and catching there, tugging Jared in gently, their chins angling against each other with just the faintest scrape of stubble. God, he’s such an amazing kisser.

They’re still making out, half-lying across the couch, Misha all but forgotten, when something in Jensen’s apartment shatters with the sound of glass breaking.

Jensen pulls back from Jared, anger rising up quick as Misha’s name to his lips—

Danny’s standing over the remains of the lamp on the table by the door, an apologetic smile frozen on her face as she looks at Jensen. “Sorry,” she whispers loudly.

Chris is standing—no, _swaying_ \--right behind her. “Oh man, that’s the lamp from our dorm back in college. Dammit, Danny. That was history you just killed.”

“I’m really sorry,” Danny says, grimacing. Chris, on the other hand, is already on his knees, crawling around trying to gather up the pieces of the broken lamp, whispering, “God, no, why?” under his breath.

Jensen closes his eyes and grits his teeth, sucking in a deep breath and praying for the patience not to kill them both where they stand—and crawl. “Why are you here?”

“Oh!” Danny says and brightens, as if in a hurry to move past breaking his lamp. “We were on our way home, and we were passing by, and we were like, hey! That’s Jensen’s building. We _love_ Jensen, let’s stop by and say hi!”

Jensen opens his eyes, fixing her with a glare as his lips part, tongue sliding across his lower lip and then slowly back inside, pulling his lower lip in behind before he catches it between his teeth. He takes another breath and then releases it. 

“I’m a little busy right now.” He looks down meaningfully at Jared, and Jared twists and lifts his head far enough to look at them with one eye across the arm of the couch as he lifts a hand in a wave.

“Hey there.”

“Oh my _God_ , Jensen,” Danny gasps in delight, hands flying to her chest. “You brought him _home_.” She’s bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, and Jensen heaves a sigh.

“Yes. Now get out. And take Misha with you,” he adds. “I think he passed out in the bathroom.”

Danny’s still bouncing with glee, and then she stops suddenly, putting a hand to her stomach, face curdling in an expression of disgust. “I think... I think I’m gonna…” she says, and then breaks into a lurching run for the bathroom.

Jensen stares after her in disbelief, and then, as the sounds of her retching reach him, he swivels his head to look at Chris still crawling around on the floor, picking up pieces of the lamp and holding them in a way Jensen can only interpret as reverent, whispering to them that everything’s going to be okay, they can fix this.

Jensen lets his forehead fall against Jared’s and shakes his head. He starts to say how sorry he is that his friends are all drunk and insane, and then realizes Jared is shaking with muffled laughter against him.

“You think this is funny?” Jensen asks, incredulous.

“It really kind of is,” Jared nods, choking back more laughter.

“Jensen…” Danny’s voice is weak and shaky as she calls out, “I’m sorry.”

“Oh my God,” Jensen says, lifting his head and craning his neck in the direction of the bathroom. “Tell me you made it to the toilet.”

There’s a pause, and then, “Really sorry.”

“Fuck,” Jensen breathes, and Jared laughs even harder.

“We’ll see how funny you think this is when I take it out of your ass later,” Jensen tells him.

Jared coughs back a laugh. “Just makes it…” he manages to say before he has to put a hand against his mouth, and then pulls it back visibly restraining his laughter, “even more worth it.”

“You…” Jensen doesn’t even know how to answer that, annoyance, affection, adoration running through him all at once.

From the floor, Chris hisses and snatches a hand to his chest as he goes bolt upright on his knees—and then almost overbalances, swaying dangerously backward before he straightens again. 

“Shit. I think I cut my hand.” Chris stares at said hand for a moment, as if fascinated, and then pitches face-first into the floor, gathered lamp fragments scattered out to one side of his limp body.

“Jesus fucking _Christ_ ,” Jensen sighs, pulling away from Jared as he gets to his feet to go check on Chris.

“Is he okay?” Jared asks, sitting up on the couch, not sounding amused at all, suddenly.

Jensen takes a look. The cut’s not very deep, but Chris has never been good with the sight of blood. “Yeah, he’ll be fine.”

Jensen goes to the bathroom to get the first aid kit, and Danny looks up at him from where she’s curled around the toilet in the fetal position as he tries to dodge-step his way through the mess all over the floor.

“Go get him,” she encourages with a vague thumbs up before her head lists to the side and she retches again.

“Yeah,” Jensen nods, gritting his teeth. “ _Thanks_.”

He makes it back to the living room with the kit and bandages Chris’s wound with barely restrained impatience, patting Chris on the cheek to wake him up.

“Jensen?” Chris mutters, blinking rapidly at him. “Why am I here?”

“ _Such_ a good question,” Jensen says with a tight, humorless smirk.

“Oh, I remember.” Chris’ expression collapses into one of sadness. “Oh, Jensen, the lamp.”

“Like Humpty Dumpty,” Jensen nods, patting Chris on the chest. “Be strong, bro.”

He glances over, then, noticing Danny crawling toward them on all fours, still looking green around the edges, “Is he okay?”

God, they’re both way too drunk to even try to take a cab home, Jensen realizes with regret. “He’s fine. You guys crash on the couch, okay? Or… the floor. That works…. too,” he adds, awkward, as Danny completes the distance and lies down on top of Chris, snuggling in against him.

Fine. They’ll be fine here. But he needs to clean up the bathroom _right now_. When he says so, Jared just nods agreeably and offers to help, and Jensen has a moment where he considers not only how many guys would have left by now—much less have laughed at the situation until it got potentially serious—but how the few that might have stayed would never have offered to help.

“But we should pick up all the pieces of the lamp, first,” Jared says, “so they don’t cut themselves.”

Jensen really, _really_ likes him a _lot_.

 

*

 

When they’re done, Jensen plops down on the couch, Jared falling in beside him. “Do you need a drink?” Jensen asks. “Because I really do.” He doesn’t, really, he’s still pretty drunk, but he _feels_ like he needs one after all that.

Danny and Chris are background noise, fast asleep, snoring lightly against each other on the floor.

“I wouldn’t say no,” Jared says with a grin, and Jensen grins back before he gets up to go grab the only alcohol he has in the apartment, which is stored in the cabinets above the refrigerator, and unfortunately—or possibly, fortunately—consists of Patron Silver tequila.

Jensen brings back the bottle and two shot glasses, only meaning to pour one for each of them, which he’s not sure they’re even going to drink before Jensen kisses him. But then Jensen pours them, and they tap their shot glasses together, looking at each other before they drink, and when they’re done, Jared starts talking about the first time he ever did tequila shots, and they spend the next twenty minutes laughing, talking and doing a few more shots.

“I’m surprised you didn’t leave a long time ago,” Jensen finally says setting his shot glass aside.

“If you thought,” Jared tells him, setting aside his own shot glass and leaning in close, lips almost touching Jensen’s, “I was letting you get away after finding you the second time,” Jared breathes out hard, “you were out of your mind,” he whispers, pressing his lips against Jensen’s.

Jensen opens for him eagerly, moaning as he closes his hands around Jared’s jawline, fingertips finding the line of Jared’s perfect cheekbones, tongue rushing to meet his. Jensen kisses him down slowly against the couch, body moving fractionally to lie on top of him, and fuck Jared feels so good, arching up into Jensen, breathing out hard through his nose as he kisses Jensen back, like he’s going to die if he doesn’t.

“Jensen,” a female voice says, crashing into his reality like a train wreck.

Jensen tears himself away from Jared with an incredible effort. “Oh. My. God. What?” he demands, looking up and all around.

Genevieve is standing just past the doorway of the apartment, body rocking to the left and right so hard that Jensen is sure she’s going to fall down.

“I was with Misha,” she says. “And we were almost here. And then…” she frowns, gathering herself, “I think I went to a couple of your neighbors’ apartments. There were cookies,” she adds, frowning more deeply. “They were really good.”

“You okay with going to my room?” Jensen asks Jared, and he doesn’t want to have to ask, but here he is.

“So okay,” Jared whispers back, his lips kissed dark red, so sexy and gorgeous and wanting Jensen.

“You can sleep on the couch,” Jensen manages to tell Genevieve.

“Thanks, Jensen,” she smiles.

Jensen gets to his feet, unsteady as he draws Jared’s hand along with him.

“Oh, hey, Jared,” Genevieve waves, completely casual, before she takes his place on the couch.

“Hey. Good night,” Jared says.

“And there’s _Patron_ ,” Genevieve says like it’s a score, and Jensen counts the bottle as lost as she lifts it to her mouth.

“Shots were maybe not my best idea tonight,” Jensen offers as Jared looks at him.

”I’m still liking your chances for getting lucky,” Jared says with a smile, letting himself be drawn along, and he really is perfect. Jensen kisses him gratefully, pulling Jared into his bedroom with a final tug.

 

*

 

Lying on Jensen’s bed, Jared on top of him, Jared finishes unbuttoning his shirt, theirs mouths locked together in a perfect, endless kiss as Jared finally tears apart the edges.

“God. You are _so_ hot,” Jared breathes, just looking at Jensen’s chest, his face, for a long moment before he descends, biting against the length of Jensen’s throat, kissing his way down to Jensen’s chest, Jensen moaning and arching underneath him. God, he’s so _good_ , Jensen thinks, clenching his hands at the base of Jared’s neck. With anyone else, Jensen would flip him over, take the lead; take what they both want. But he wants to see what Jared wants to give him—how far he wants to go.

Jared closes his teeth around Jensen’s nipple, sucking and pulling, and then turns his cheek against Jensen’s chest.

“I want this. God, I want it so bad. But I want it to mean something. I want to remember it tomorrow. Even though I’m so drunk I almost don’t care.”

Jensen’s breath catches in his chest as Jared kisses back up his throat, lips meeting his. He wants this, fuck, he _wants_ it.

“I’ll deal with it tomorrow,” Jared says decidedly, kissing Jensen again.

Dammit. _Dammit_.Jensen could let it go at that, except he can’t. Jared’s drunk, and no matter how much he wants this, no matter how drunk he is, too, he can’t do this.

“You don’t think you’ll remember this tomorrow?” he asks, breaking away.

“Pretty sure I won’t, but it’s all good,” Jared promises, fingertips sinking the back of Jensen’s neck, pulling him into another kiss.

Jensen tugs away despite himself, and God, he just wants to turn Jared over against the bed, fuck him senseless, but he can’t. Not knowing this. If they’re going to have sex, it should be memorable. This rates a memory.

“We can wait.”

Jared stops and stares at him. “Really? Because that sounds a little romantic to--”

“Just kiss me instead,” Jensen whispers, and Jared does, eagerly, mouth pushing against Jared’s, their arms wrapping tight around each other, pulling each other in.

They kiss like that, desperate and wanting until they’re both tired, Jensen holding Jared close, Jared nudging his chin against Jensen’s throat with a contented sound like a low purr.

Jensen nudges back, pushing his head into the pillows of his bed. 

Jared slides his jaw against Jensen’s collarbone, relaxing against Jensen completely.

He’s a little heavy, but Jensen doesn’t mind, taking the weight of him as he lapses into sleep.

 

*

 

Jensen wakes up at 7:30, needing to pee so bad that he has to yank away from Jared and dance on his way to the bathroom.

He’s well into whizzing into the toilet, head falling backward on his neck in relief, when the shower curtain moves… sliding open.

“Oh my God what the _fuck_?” Jensen asks, falling sideways away from the tub. He hits the floor something less than graceful, pushing back up into a defensive posture, because whatever’s inside his bathtub is going to get one hell of a fight before it eats him—pants up or not—he doesn’t care what it is.

“Hey, Jensen.”Misha says, grinning at him from inside the tub. “Boo.”

Jensen just stares at him for a long moment, and then he grits his teeth, pulling up his pants as he stands up. “You bastard.”

“Yeah,”Misha nods. “But that was _awesome_ ,” he says, lifting his hand for a high five.

Jensen considers that for a moment. “Yeah,” he agrees. “That was a good one,” he smacks his palm against Misha’s. “But that doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

“You totally forgive me,” Misha says, rolling his eyes skyward.

Jensen frowns at him. “Are you still drunk?”

“Aren’t we all?” Misha asks with a grand gesture of his hands.

“Yeah, okay,” Jensen says after thinking it over. “I still need to finish peeing.”

“Take your time,” Misha shrugs, leaning his head against the back of the tub and closing his eyes, hands rising to slide underneath the back of his neck.

Jensen eyes him, and then yanks the shower curtain back between them before he finishes. He flushes the toilet, and as if on cue, Misha asks, “So how was it?”

“It didn’t happen,” Jensen admits, pausing before he steps outside the door.

“Jensen, that was a done deal, why the fuck didn’t you--”

Jensen closes the door between them, taking a moment of satisfaction before he heads to the kitchen to wash his hands and make breakfast. Breakfast is what he knows how to do; it’s what’s expected right now. He can’t go back to bed because Jared’s in there and he isn’t ready to deal with that just yet, so he’ll make breakfast, bacon and pancakes and eggs for everyone, and fuck, what did he almost do last night?

_What you **wanted**._

It was a bad idea. A bad, _drunken_ idea, and he’s almost grateful to his drunken friends for interrupting—to Jared for being such a romantic that he wanted to remember it.

Almost.

He makes coffee and pours himself a mug full. After he drinks about half of it, he proceeds to cook eggs, and bacon and pancakes, and all of his friends gradually rise, drawn by the smell like hung-over zombies. He serves them each a plate and even eats a few bites of his own, giving the occasional glance back at his room, wondering if Jared’s ever going to wake up. Maybe Jensen should go wake him up?

“Oh my God, I’m going to be late,” Danny gasps, standing up from the table.

“Honey,” Chris says, grabbing and squeezing her hand, “It’s Saturday.”

“It’s Friday,” Misha tells him between eating bites of his eggs.

“Oh my God, I’m going to be late,” Chris says, standing up, too.

“Have fun,” Misha says with a wave, and then bites into a slice of bacon.

“You know today’s Saturday,” Jensen says as Chris and Danny run from his apartment.

“Yes, I do,” Misha grins.

Jensen shakes his head and smirks, rueful and amused.

“Oh, God,” Gen moans, apropos of nothing as she holds her head in her hands. She’s barely touched her breakfast and she’s looking a few shades paler than usual.

“Oh, Genevieve,” Misha says in a tsking sort of tone. “Come on, you’re stronger than this. You could…” he pauses, thinking, “you could eat this greasy breakfast out of a dirty ashtray.”

Gen moans, leaning her head further into her hands.

“Okay,” Misha says like he’s allowing for a moment of weakness. “But you could totally do another shot right now. Just think about it. Clear tequila, burning a trail down to your belly, warm and perfect.” Misha gets a distant look of pleasure while he rubs his belly. “Let’s do one right now,” he says, brightening as he focuses on the idea, sitting up straight and then leaning across his plate while he focuses on Gen. “No,” he says, brightening even further as he reconsiders, practically beaming at her. “Let’s do a _double_ shot. I’ll get the bottle.”

Gen doesn’t respond, shoving up from the table and running for the bathroom, and Misha sits back in his chair like he’s satisfied, turning to Jensen with a triumphant grin.

“You are an evil, _evil_ man,” Jensen tells him.

Misha tilts his head to one side with smile, completely unaffected by Jensen’s proclamation. “Wait for it,” he says with utter confidence, and then takes another bite of his bacon.

It’s a few minutes before Genevieve returns to the table. “I am _so_ hungry,” she says, like nothing ever happened, sliding into her chair and digging into her meal without ceremony.

“Jensen,” Misha says, with lofty arrogance, “bring her every vitamin you’ve got in the house, plus a glass of water and a glass of orange juice.”

“You made her throw up on purpose?” Jensen asks, incredulous as he watches Gen in the process of devouring everything on her plate.

“Oh, my favorite disciple…” Misha shakes his head indulgently, “just go do what I said,” he adds with an impatient wave of his hand.

Jensen breathes out hard, squinting at Misha so hard he almost can’t see him before he gets up and goes to the kitchen, bringing back everything Misha asked for and setting it down in front of Gen. She drinks all the water first, and then the orange juice, taking the vitamins somewhere in between.

“So, it’s Saturday,” she says with a smile, looking up from her empty plate. “What’re we doing?”

Jensen’s pretty sure she’s still drunk, but she does look a hell of a lot better.

“We’ve got that thing,” Misha says, dodgy. “You know.”

“No. I _don’t know_ ,” she says, frowning at him suspiciously.

“That thing we need to do,” Misha says, not looking at her as he gets up from the table. “You know,” he says, making a ‘come on’ motion with his hand.

“No. I _don’t_.” Gen folds her arms across her chest, eyeing Misha like she’s daring him to contradict her.

“Okay,” Misha sighs, rubbing a hand across his chin, and then letting it fall to his side. “But if I tell you…” he says with a meaningful look, “then… Jensen…” he backhands the air with a couple of quick snaps of his wrist. “He’ll… well, you _know_ ,” he finishes with a grin that says, of course you do, silly.

She still stares at him with narrowed eyes, expression not changing a bit.

Misha puts his hand next to his mouth as if to hide what he’s saying from Jensen’s angle, and then whispers at incredible volume, “Then he’ll _know_.” 

“Know what?”

The muscles in Misha’s jaws clench and then he sighs, giving up every pretense of keeping a secret as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “The thing you told me you’d string me upside-down, gut me like a fish and laugh while you did it if I ever told anyone.”

“Oh my God, _that_ thing?” Genevieve says, standing up from the table so fast that she bangs her knees against it on the way to her feet. She smoothes her hands against her thighs briefly and straightens, giving Jensen a careful smile. “Sorry we have to go,” she offers with forced politeness before she hurries to Misha’s side and grabs him by the arm.

“When did I tell you about that?” she demands in a stage whisper as she steers him by the elbow toward the door. Misha looks back over his shoulder and shoots Jensen a huge grin, sending him a thumbs-up with the arm that isn’t currently being commandeered by Genevieve. 

There’s a beat where Jensen recognizes that look as Misha getting Genevieve out of the apartment so Jensen can get laid, and then—

“Really?” Misha asks, looking back to Gen like he’s annoyed, “you don’t remember? And here I thought we had a _moment_.”

Gen looks at him, stymied for a moment and then she makes an annoyed sound, letting go of Misha and yanking open the door to the apartment, holding it for him.

“After you,” Misha says, turning inside the doorframe and settling his back against it and motioning her through.

She goes, and Misha shoots him another grin and thumbs up before Gen reaches back and grabs him by the collar, pulling him into the hallway, Misha making a mad clutch at the doorknob, barely managing to pull the door shut behind them.

Great.

Jensen knows Misha was trying to do him a favor by leaving him and Jared alone—and Jesus, did he send Chris and Danny to work on a Saturday to get them out of here, too? 

He reaches for his phone, texting Misha. _”What do you call someone who is BEYOND diabolical?”_

The answer comes back without hesitation. _“Mastermind. See also; me.”_

Jensen bites down against his reluctant grin and shakes his head.

_“Have fun, Jensen.”_

Maybe he should, Jensen thinks as he sets his phone aside on the table. Maybe he should just enjoy this, have a good time, go in there and kiss Jared awake and take off the rest of his clothes. He could, or at least he’s… reasonably sure Jared would let him… but where is that going to lead? More importantly, is Jensen ready for where it might lead?

Jared makes for the best beginning of a romance novel he can imagine… but he’s read those stories, probably all of them by now, and they all end just after the beginning. There are incredibly few books that deal with real life after the novelty of a new romance has worn off.

He’s not even supposed to be thinking about these things anymore. He’s given up on finding the one. The one that fits, that works, that stays. The fact that he _is_ thinking about it at all…

Means he hasn’t changed a bit. Either that or Jared might be the one.

The door to his bedroom opens then, and Jared steps through it, pausing to yawn and stretch, and dear God, he’s shirtless, jeans unbuttoned at the top, and Jensen sees the flex of every single, incredibly defined, tanned muscle of his body above the waist. The arch of his spine, the way his hands squeeze together behind his head, muscles in his arms flexing, motion rippling down through his massive chest, culminating in the contraction of his perfect six-pack.

Jensen stares at him in a daze, and if this were a story, he’d be drooling right now, he thinks, swiping at the edge of his mouth absently.

Jared is. Well, okay. Jared is built like a God. In addition to being a person Jensen has rated (somewhat reluctantly but without fail) as completely amazing.

“I smell bacon,” Jared says, letting his arms fall as he smiles at Jensen, standing there in the early morning sunlight, bare to the waist and amazingly built and so adorable Jensen can barely stand it. “Tell me there’s bacon.”

Despite how gorgeous Jared is and how very, very much Jensen wants him, without alcohol fueling him, the idea of having sex with Jared is incredibly scary. “There is… but I only have a little time before I have to leave,” Jensen lies, and then tries not to wince at how awkward he sounds.

“So where do you have to go?” Jared asks, walking across the room toward him, slow, sexy smile stretching his lips. “Because I was hoping…” Jared lets his voice trail off suggestively, looking at Jensen.

“A meeting,” Jensen says, too brusque, nodding like an idiot. “Yep.”

“Sure you can’t cancel?” Jared persists, still giving him that delectable fucking smile.

“ _Really_ important meeting,” Jensen insists, nodding a few more times and forcing a smile.

Jared stops a few feet away, looking at him with a light frown. “Are you okay?”

“Mm hmm, yep. Sure thing. I’ll… just go… make you a plate,” Jensen says, hurrying for the kitchen. 

Okay, he thinks, as he puts the plate together for Jared, he isn’t drunk right now, at least not very much, and he still… he wants to—but who wouldn’t? Just look at Jared, he’s sex poured into human form…with intelligence, and wit, and geekiness and a twisted sense of humor, and almost perfect musical taste. He loves romance novels even though he knows they don’t mirror reality, and he owns the title of the world’s biggest cheese ball.

Get a grip, Jensen.

Jensen carries the plate to the dining area table, setting it down at one of the empty spots. And before Jensen can let go, Jared reaches out, his fingers closing around the bracelet on Jensen’s wrist. 

“You put Walter and Wilhelmina on your desk.”

“Danny,” Jensen says and clears his throat, “did that.”

“You left them there,” Jared says, gently, leaning in close to Jensen. “And,” Jared goes on, fingers and thumb caressing the underside of Jensen’s wrist, “you’re still wearing the bracelet I tied around your wrist in Islas Mujeres.”

“I just never thought to…” Jensen starts to say, and then he looks up, meets those hazel eyes, and every single word curdles up and dies on the end of his tongue.

God. No one else has ever looked at him this honestly, this completely open. For a split second, Jensen is literally breathless.

“You don’t really have a meeting, do you?” Jared asks, voice barely above a whisper, and he doesn’t look the slightest bit offended that Jensen might have lied to him, just like he really wants to know, his thumb and fingers burning against Jensen’s skin even though he’s barely touching Jensen.

“No,” Jensen admits after a moment, voice quiet.

Jared just looks at him with that same look for a long moment, like Jensen’s the only person that exists. “I know you’re still dealing with a recent break up… but you don’t have to lie to me. Please, don’t lie to me. Not ever. I’m more than willing to wait. So just tell me if you don’t feel ready. Okay?”

He says it all so quietly, so gently, so fucking _sincerely_ , never looking away from Jensen once, and Jensen feels like he’s drowning.

“Okay,” Jensen manages to whisper.

“I’m really not that scary,” Jared says, managing a small smile. “I promise.” With a final, light squeeze, his fingers slip away from Jensen’s wrist—and it’s that added to everything else; that tiny smile, his understanding, everything he said. It’s Jared letting go of him, the absence of the feel of Jared’s skin against his that makes Jensen know that Jared really _is_ willing to wait. That he’d happily sit down and eat breakfast with Jensen, talking about whatever until he finally went back to Jensen’s room and put on his shirt and his shoes and said goodbye.

It’s that; the feeling of Jared’s fingers slipping away, more than anything else, that propels Jensen forward, hands reaching out and cupping the back of Jared’s head, pulling him in, Jensen’s mouth colliding with his in a sudden, hot, wet mess.

Jared’s hands close around his face, mouth opening eagerly, tongue delving inside and sweeping over Jensen’s, circling in a sweet, slick tangle.

“So your fake meeting’s fake cancelled?” Jared gasps raggedly, pulling back.

“So fake cancelled,” Jensen breathes back, pushing up into his mouth again.

Jared’s hands slide down to his waist, darting around and circling Jensen, tugging him in until they’re pressed right up against each other, mouth to chest to thigh. Jensen groans into his mouth, rocking into Jared’s body and Jared groans back, fingertips sinking into Jensen’s sides, clutching him closer. Jensen’s hard as a rock, and any other time he might be embarrassed, except Jared’s just as hard, pressed up against him, moaning and kissing him as he rolls his hips into Jensen’s. God, he feels so fucking good, musculature and skin against Jensen’s fingertips as they skirt and skim down Jared’s back, hot body shoved against him, wanting Jensen just as much as Jensen wants him.

Jared kisses out, away from Jensen’s mouth, licking down the length of Jensen’s throat, and it feels so good that Jensen clenches his hands over Jared’s incredible back muscles, feels Jared stiffen and groan, tongue pausing in painting swirls against Jensen’s collarbone,teeth biting down _hard_.

“Bedroom, now,” Jensen growls.

“Yes,” Jared breathes, fingers of one hand reaching around to grab Jensen’s, lacing them through and squeezing.

This isn’t a one night (one morning) stand, and Jensen knows it, clenching Jared’s hand, dragging him to bedroom. Right now, he doesn’t care. This gorgeous, amazing man, the way he kisses, the way he feels against Jensen’s hands, the way Jensen _feels_.

They kiss all the way there, and then Jensen pushes Jared away, shoving him against the doorframe of the bedroom, kissing him even harder.

Jared grabs him by the shoulders, making a noise into his mouth, turning both of them around, and then they’re on the bed, Jared’s weight pushing against him, and fuck, he feels so fucking good, Jensen driving up into the kiss, sucking and biting at Jared’s lower lip. Jensen closes his hands around Jared’s shoulders, turning him over and God, his mouth is _divine_.

Jensen doesn’t even have the words to tell him so, muttering, “Your _mouth_.”

“I can do so many things with it,” Jared groans, pulling Jensen closer, tighter on top of him. “You should let me.”

“Fuck,” Jensen moans back, imagining all the different things Jared could do to him inside of a second or two and feels his brain almost implode, his cock jerking against his belly. “That is so hot.”

“Not as hot as what I’m going to do to you,” Jared promises, heated, rushed whisper into Jensen’s mouth, rolling Jensen back over on the bed. 

The words hit Jensen with a force that’s nearly physical, rush of heat through his belly, coiling there and building, and he hasn’t wanted someone this much since _ever_. 

Jared kisses out, away from his mouth, licking and sucking, _biting_ a slow trail down Jensen’s throat, his hands sliding down and around Jensen’s body, fingers clenching slow fists around the muscles of Jensen’s ass through his clothes. Jensen throws his head back against the pillow, exposing his throat and gritting his teeth against the onslaught of Jared slowly taking him apart, hands squeezing Jared’s bare lower back muscles so hard he’s sure he’s leaving bruises and he so doesn’t care.

Jared doesn’t appear to care either, because he doesn’t make a sound of protest or even tense up, just keeps swirling his tongue down to the open vee of Jensen’s shirt, pressing a kiss against the heated skin above the button. He lets go of Jensen then, lifting his hands to unbutton Jensen’s shirt, fingers working it out by feel while Jared concentrates on the base of Jensen’s throat, tongue darting into the hollow and making Jensen shudder. Jared turns his face just a little, teeth closing around the beginning of the muscle to one side, biting down slowly until Jensen gasps, body arching up into Jared, cock aching hard inside his jeans, pressed tight against Jared’s extremely unforgiving stomach muscles. 

Jared bites down just a little harder, taking the sensation right to the edge of pain, sending Jensen right to the edge of his control before he relents, mouth following the trail of exposed skin down Jensen’s chest, tongue trailing down between his pecs, fingers finishing off what Jensen hopes like hell is the last of the buttons on his shirt, because Christ. Jensen starts to breathe a sigh of relief when Jared finally pulls his shirt open, and then reverses the motion to his lungs, sucking in a sudden breath as Jared’s mouth closes around one of his nipples, one hand skimming down Jensen’s side to grab him by the hip, other teasing with just the tip of one finger at Jensen’s other nipple. Jared bites down, just a little, and Jensen arcs against the bed and into Jared like a bolt of lightning, fingers moving and sinking into Jared’s shoulder muscles in a death grip.

Jared makes a noise against him, and Jensen feels it reverberate through his chest in the moment before Jared stops long enough to breathe out the words, “Sensitive. Too much?”

“God no,” Jensen breathes out, letting go of Jared’s shoulders, hands diving into the wild tangle of his hair, fingers sliding along the curve of his skull, pulling his head back down.

Jared goes with the motion, mouth closing around Jensen’s nipple, sucking and nibbling on it until Jensen’s writhing against the bed and begging, and God, his nipples have always been a hotspot for him, like they’re wired straight to his dick, but the ones who’ve bothered have never taken the time to work him up like this. 

Jared works his mouth even further south after making Jensen completely crazy, unbuttoning Jensen’s jeans, tugging them along with his boxers down his hips, breathing out a sound of satisfaction as Jensen’s cock springs free. Jared’s tongue licks a line up the center of it, pausing underneath the head to do something that makes Jensen jolt against the bed, and if he does it again, Jensen’s going to come right here and now.

“Oh my God,” Jensen gasps, hands clutching in Jared’s hair. “Stop. Please stop. Just fuck me.”

Jared stops, completely, lifting his head to look at Jensen. His eyes are heavy lidded, glinting heated hazel in the morning light. “I’m barely getting started.”

“Next time,” Jensen insists. “Because if you do that one more time…”

“I’d come if you even touched me right now,” Jared breathes in agreement. “But I’m not going to hurt you. If you want me to fuck you… you’re going to be ready for it.”

Jensen just stares at him, wordless. 

“Do you want me to fuck you, Jensen?” Jared asks, face turning to plant a kiss in the crease of Jensen’s thigh. His eyes return to Jensen’s from that vantage point, and Jensen thinks this guy is going to _kill_ him.

“God yes,” Jensen barely manages to say, voice cracking across the words. He’s sure he’s never wanted anything as badly in his entire life. Jensen reaches for the nightstand, fingers groping blindly for the condoms and lube inside the drawer that he hasn’t opened in months. Jensen pushes the lube and a condom packet in Jared’s direction, feels Jared take them.

Jared doesn’t say anything, just presses another kiss to Jensen’s skin, so near his cock that it makes him shudder while Jared slides his hands along the length of Jensen’s legs, pulling off his clothes, and then pushes them up and apart, mouth descending lower, tongue licking at Jensen, pushing inside, and then Jensen’s just lost in it, the sensation of Jared’s tongue, his fingers as he pushes them in slowly, opening Jensen up like he hasn’t been in way too long, and fuck it’s so good, and he needs this, right _now_.

“I am… going to fuck you…. so hard next time,” Jensen manages to gasp out, grinding against Jared’s fingers and tongue. 

“Looking forward to it,” Jared breathes, pulling his mouth away from Jensen’s body. And then Jared’s fingers slide out of him, leaving him empty for a moment. He hears Jared open the condom packet and can’t help but crane his head up, watching.

He’s so hot—maybe more than a God as he rolls the condom down his cock, and fuck, how can one guy be this gorgeous, this sexy? Lubing himself up, hand sliding up and down the curve of his huge cock, biting against his lower lip, his eyes focused on Jensen’s face.

“I’ve thought about this,” Jared says, falling down against Jensen and kissing him, lining his cock up between Jensen’s legs. “So many times.”

Jensen doesn’t have anything he can say against that, can only look at Jared.

“Every night, since I met you,” Jared breathes, and then pushes inside him.

It’s like a revelation, the way Jared slides inside him, slow and almost too sweet, kissing and whispering away anything like pain. He’s so fucking _big_ , filling Jensen to the brim and then over the edge, and Jensen bites down hard on the curve of Jared’s lower lip, hissing out a breath, thrusting upward, wanting to take more of him.

“God, you feel…” Jared gasps, hips shuddering, hands grabbing Jensen by the shoulders, pushing in just a little bit deeper. Jensen makes an involuntary noise of surprise at how good it feels, lashes fluttering as he pulls in a breath. Jared stills for a moment, then, fully inside Jensen.

“Okay?” Jared asks, laying one palm against Jensen’s cheek and looking at him, _really_ looking at him.

All at once, it’s too much, Jared filling him up inside, body covering Jensen’s, looking down at Jensen like he’s the only person who’s ever existed, like he’s really concerned about Jensen even though both of them are shivering with the need to move. Jensen can’t find words all of a sudden, can barely breathe, so he just nods instead.

The smile that spreads across Jared’s face is beautiful; pleased, satisfied and a little bit wicked as he looks down at Jensen, whispers, “Good,” and then kisses him, tongue sliding inside Jensen’s mouth, sweet and slippery and hot. His hands slide down Jensen’s body to grip him by the hips, and he moves, dragging back then pushing forward, slowly at first, kissing Jensen and thrusting against the spot inside Jensen that makes sparks shoot from his belly to his brain, cock twitching and leaking against his belly. Makes Jensen writhe and moan, thrusting up desperately to meet Jared a few strokes later, grabbing the round, firm curve of Jared’s bare ass in his hands, spreading his legs wider, pulling them up even higher along Jared’s body.

“God,” Jared breathes out into Jensen’s mouth, hands sliding around Jensen’s hips, palms cupping his ass and lifting him off the bed just a little, changing the angle as he thrusts harder into Jensen, and oh fuck, God, that’s _good_.

“Yeah?” Jared asks, wicked lilt to his mouth as he does it again, and then again, and somewhere in there, Jensen realizes he must’ve said that out loud, but the realization is fleeting and so very much less important than the way Jared is fucking into him, hard and deep, and oh so _good_.

“Yeah,”Jensen manages to answer, a quick burst of sound between thrusts, stomach muscles contracting to rise and meet Jared on the next stroke.

“Fuck, Jensen,” Jared gasps, biting Jensen’s jaw, hips doing a quick double thrust inside Jensen that leaves Jensen shivering against the bed in pleasure. “So hot. What you do to me… you don’t even know…” 

Jensen’s pretty sure he knows, if it’s anything like what Jared’s doing to him. He’s very sure as he rises up to meet the next stroke, mouth angling to draw Jared’s, kissing him just as hard and deep as Jared’s fucking him. Jared lifts his ass a little higher off the bed, hitting him at an angle on the way down that makes his eyes roll back in his head, dig his fingernails into Jared’s perfect ass.

Jared hisses in a breath in the middle of kissing Jensen, one hand sliding across Jensen’s ass, arm supporting his other side, other hand planted hard against Jensen’s chest, thumb and forefinger closing tight around the taut bud of Jensen’s nipple and squeezing as he drives down into him, hitting every sweet spot on the way down, and Jesus fucking _Christ_.

“Please,” Jensen breaks and begs, and he doesn’t know which hand he wants Jared to move, doesn’t really care, just _wants_.

Jared lets go of his grip on Jensen’s ass, hips thrusting, knees angling underneath to keep Jensen there even as he reaches up and leans further in, fingers closing around the base of Jensen’s cock, stroking up the length, squeezing so incredibly slow, pinching Jensen’s nipple lightly with his other hand, kissing Jensen insistently as he thrusts into him.

Jensen comes like a rocket, raking his fingernails up the length of Jared’s back, digging into Jared’s shoulders and clinging as he writhes, body convulsing and shuddering, come streaking between their bellies, skin smeared with it and smooth, so slick and fuck, yes, Jared pushing against that spot inside him.

“God, Jensen,” Jared barely manages, words mangled, and then thrusts to fill Jensen so hard that Jensen forgets how to breathe, cock spurting out a last, jagged burst. Jared slides out one more time, pushing to fill Jensen, then thrusting just a little bit deeper, his hands moving to grip Jensen by the shoulders, teeth biting deep into the swell of Jensen’s lower lip as he comes, fingers clenching as his teeth pull free, breathing out Jensen’s name in a string of curses, biting and kissing half of them into Jensen’s throat.

They spend a few minutes lying there, Jared’s face resting against Jensen’s jaw, both of them shuddering with aftershocks every time one of them moves even the tiniest bit, Jared’s arms sliding underneath, around Jensen’s shoulders, Jensen’s arms closed in tight circle around Jared’s waist. Jensen can feel Jared breathe out against his chin, the way his thighs are pressed against the outside of Jared’s. There’s a small part of him that’s trying to worry about this kind of intimacy, but the larger part of him is content to lie right here against the bed, Jared breathing in and out against him.

He’s hung over, and tired, and he knows that’s a bad place to be right now, and maybe they shouldn’t have done this at all—but be damned if he gives a fuck right now. Right now, it feels completely right, and Jensen strokes his hand up Jared’s spine, smiling when Jared shivers against him.

“Tease,” Jared breathes, snuggling his head down against Jensen’s neck and tucking his face into the curve. 

Jensen slides his hand up to rest against the back of Jared’s head, feels Jared press a brief kiss into the space between his shoulder and neck, and then falls completely and totally into sleep.

 

*

 

Jensen blinks open eyes to full on daylight when he wakes again, and shit, it’s got to be past noon. He starts to move, and then feels the weight against his chest, remembers that it’s Saturday, that it’s Jared pressed alongside him, fast asleep, Jared’s head on his chest, Jensen’s hand deep inside the tangle of his hair, fingers resting against the curve of his skull. Jensen cranes his neck, looking down at Jared’s face against his chest, and fuck, Jared’s possibly even more gorgeous asleep than he is when he’s awake.

Jensen shouldn’t have done this. He knows this feeling, the one that propels him forward despite all his best instincts. He should back out now.

_And when have you ever done that, Jensen?_

_Never. And also, fuck you, inner voice._

This is where he should bow out and let it go. 

“Jared,” he whispers.

Jared hums across Jensen’s chest, dragging his mouth along the breadth before he lifts his head and responds, “It’s the only way. The frogs have to die.”

Jensen bites down against the inside of his cheek and nods. “They definitely do.”

“I don’t want to kill them, but…” Jared admits in a sincere voice that’s still an aside, still dreaming, and Jensen can’t stop grinning.

Jensen clasps Jared’s chin between his hands, pulling him up and pressing his lips against Jared’s. Jared hums then, seeming to finally wake all the way as his hand slides up Jensen’s chest, fingers resting against the base of his throat.

“Good morning,” Jared whispers after a moment, pulling back to grin at Jensen. His hair is a tousled mess, but it only adds to his adorable charm. 

“So we have to kill the frogs?” Jensen asks, trying not to laugh.

“There are frogs?” Jared asks, frowning with confusion. “And we have to kill them? What did I miss?”

Jensen gives in and laughs with abandon, can’t even help it. “All I know is that’s what you told me.”

“Was I sleep talking again?” Jared asks. “Sorry,” he says, exhaling quickly and looking momentarily abashed. “I do that sometimes. But for the record, I don’t have anything against frogs,” he offers, shrugging and smiling at Jensen. “Swear. I’m pro-frogs.”

“You’re way too cute for your own good,” Jensen says with a helpless shake of his head.

“So I’ve been told,” Jared nods, and it would be somber, except for the smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I hear it’s one of my finer points,” he adds, breaking into a full on smile, and Jensen wants to lean up and kiss the curve of his mouth.

_You’re supposed to tell him this was nice, but he needs to go now._

Jared is gorgeous and funny and completely naked and lying in Jensen’s bed smiling at Jensen like this and Jensen’s pretty sure he’d have to be crazy if he didn’t take it for the invitation it is. Jared feels so good against him, pressed up alongside, and Jensen wants to feel all of him--runs his hand up Jared’s side, leans up and kisses him despite himself.

Jared makes a noise into his mouth that sounds like approval, tongue sliding past Jensen’s lips, hot and sweet, leg sliding across Jensen’s stomach, weight settling against Jensen’s frame. 

_Suck it, inner voice._

Jared kisses down into him, hips rocking against Jensen’s, and Jensen kisses back just as hard, lost in the slide of Jared’s tongue against his, Jared’s bare cock grinding up the length of his, delicious friction sending tendrils of heat deep and low through his belly. Jensen shivers, biting at Jared’s lower lip, and then grabs Jared by the shoulders, throwing him over onto the bed, Jensen’s weight following behind, pinning him against the mattress.

Jensen lets go of Jared’s mouth long enough to breathe the words, “My turn.”

Jared shudders underneath him, hissing out, “Yes.” Arching so hard into Jensen that Jensen can barely hold onto his control, kissing out and down Jared’s throat, biting and sucking his way to Jared’s collarbone, licking his way lower, tongue swirling around one of Jared’s nipples before he locks on, biting down gently, gauging the way Jared shoves into the feeling before he bites down even harder.

“Jensen,” Jared gasps; arcing against the bed, fingernails raking trails up Jensen’s back hard enough to break the skin. He’s bleeding across his shoulder, he’s sure of it, but it barely registers, barely matters. He’s got Jared underneath him, practically begging, wanting him so much, and he wants to take his time-- _does_ take his time, licking over and around every single muscle in Jared’s chest and torso, biting against the place where the crease of Jared’s hip ends.

“Fuck, Jensen,” Jared breathes, body hitching up into him. It’s an involuntary movement, with involuntary words, and Jensen trails his tongue up the center of Jared’s cock, tongue curling underneath the head at the most sensitive spot and licking.

Jared digs his fingers into Jensen like exclamation points, nails biting deep in his shoulders.

“God, fuck me,” Jared begs, hands closing on the back of Jensen’s head. “Because you’re going to kill me,” Jared rasps, arching against the feel of Jensen’s tongue, “if you don’t.”

Jensen gets that entirely but can’t resist wrapping his lips just around the head of Jared’s cock and sucking lightly, Jared hissing and jittering against him, fingernails digging into Jensen so deep he’s sure there’ll be bruises. It’s worth it. He relents after a moment and then reaches for the night stand and grabbing the bottle of lube that Jared left there, taking an extra few seconds to grab for a condom in the open drawer. 

The way his lube-slicked fingers open Jared up slowly, one at a time until he’s got _three_ shoved inside him, the way Jared’s so hot, muscles rippling, grunting and thrusting into Jensen’s hand, begging him for more, Jensen’s pretty sure he’s going to lose his mind, swirling his tongue in one last curl up Jared’s cock.

It takes him longer than seems humanly possible to roll on the condom, slick up the aching hard length of his cock, sitting up on his knees, Jared watching him, eyes seeming to eat up every inch of Jensen’s naked body.

God, he’s so huge, so incredibly built, laid out and spread open on Jensen’s bed. Gorgeous and shining with sweat, lips dark red from biting against them, staring up at Jensen from sex-glazed, half-lidded eyes that _beg_ Jensen to fuck him. For an instant, Jensen’s struck by how lucky he is to have ended up here, with this funny, sweet, smart, insanely hot guy who for some crazy reason is not only really into him, but also currently begging Jensen to fuck him.

_You never learn, do you?_

_Keep sucking it,_ Jensen thinks back, and then lies down between Jared’s legs, sliding up until they’re chest to chest, mouth to mouth, Jensen’s tongue pushing between Jared’s parted lips as he thrusts forward with his hips. Jared’s thighs tighten around his hips, both of them moaning as Jensen pushes inside, tight, slick ring of muscle squeezing just under the head of his cock. He slides slow, arms shaking with the effort, biting into Jared’s lower lip as he sinks to the bottom, Jared’s inner muscles clutching him like the sweetest kind of torture. 

He has a brief fragment of thought past all the sweet pressure around his cock, that he should give Jared a minute, make sure he’s okay, and then Jared twists underneath him, tearing his lip from Jensen’s teeth to bite at Jensen’s earlobe, whispering out how he’s fine, and fuck, fuck him already, Jesus, he’s been waiting forever for Jensen to fuck him.

The words go straight through Jensen’s brain like a railroad spike all the way to his dick, and he snaps his hips back, thrusting back into Jared just as hard, curling his hips underneath his body to hit that spot inside Jared, grunting in satisfaction when Jared bucks underneath him with a strangled cry of surprised pleasure.

Jensen doesn’t relent in the slightest, wants to hear Jared make that sound again, and again, keeps rocking his hips into Jared, skidding across that spot with every stroke, faster and faster, until Jared’s head is shoved back against the pillow, mouth open and panting out heated words, strong stomach muscles lifting him in a curl to meet Jensen’s every thrust halfway. Jensen dips his neck, kissing Jared’s open mouth, one hand gripping him by the shoulder, the other sliding up underneath his ass, tugging him upward just a little on the angle of Jensen’s dick, and yeah, _there_ , Jensen thinks, half-smiling around the way he’s licking at the inside of Jared’s mouth as Jared stiffens and gasps, sucking the air out of Jensen’s lungs.

Jensen rides him like that, kissing and biting at Jared’s mouth, grating out words like “so hot” and “so tight” and “feel so fucking good”, until Jared’s writhing against him desperately, hands leaving the curve of Jensen’s ass, sliding up his body to grasp him by the face.

“Please,” Jared manages, lashes fluttering helplessly as Jensen thrusts into him.

Jensen couldn’t deny him if he wanted to, and he lets go of Jared shoulder, slides down to find space between their bellies, fingers circling the circumference of Jared’s huge, hard cock and jerking his wrist.

It’s not the easiest thing in the world, to keep his rhythm steady, to keep the angle right while he keeps fucking into Jared, because Jared is hot, and tight, inner muscles already clenching down around Jensen with just the feel of Jensen’s hand on his cock, but Jensen makes the effort. 

“Fuck,” he swears, hand convulsing around Jared’s dick, squeezing tight to the head, hips double-thrusting and shuddering.

Jared comes as if Jensen’s exclamation was a command, cock getting impossibly harder beneath Jensen’s fingers as he spurts raggedly up the length of Jensen’s belly, Jensen smearing the slickness between them on his next downward stroke, and then he’s got nothing, because Jared is clamping down around his cock, muscles fluttering and contracting, convulsing as he comes, crying out Jensen’s name.

He grunts, biting down against the tender skin of his inner cheek, hand making one last valiant stroke up the length of Jared’s dick, and then the world slips sideways as he comes, falling into Jared’s mouth, biting out words that he can’t make sense of as he shudders and thrusts and tugs.

He shivers, thrusting on instinct into the way Jared clamps around him, thumb rubbing up underneath the head of Jared’s dick, fingers squeezing him probably way too tight.

Jared makes a helpless sound into Jensen’s mouth, body writhing as he thrusts into Jensen’s hand, cock spurting out a last, weak, spatter of come.

They grind into each other slowly after that, a shuddering give and take that leaves both of them shivering wrecks with aftershocks, going until they can’t anymore, and then Jensen lets his head fall against Jared’s chest, pulling in a deep breath.

He feels like he needs to say something, doesn’t have a clue what to say, because he’s had amazing sex a few times in his life, but none of those times were ever on round two. He’s also pretty sure none of them were ever this good, and they were after he’d known his boyfriends a while. 

Fuck. 

Jared doesn’t seem to care about Jensen’s thoughts, sliding his hands underneath Jensen’s jaw, pulling him up and kissing him gently.

Jensen goes with it for a moment, and then slowly kisses out, wanting to see Jared’s expression.

Jared is a sweaty, fucked out, gorgeous mess, so satisfied and still wanting Jensen, even though they both know there’s no chance of that for a while.

“God, the things I am going to do to you next time,” Jared promises, that wicked lilt curving his mouth.

Next time. Fuck. _Next time_.

It won’t be better than this. Jensen’s entirely sure of that. This is the perfect ending to their perfect night. The next day is always the killer—the beginning of the end, no matter how good it seems right now.

And yet, there Jared is, lying perfect and gorgeous and teasing with that smile underneath Jensen on Jensen’s bed. Jensen wants to believe in him, wants to let his head fall against Jared’s chest and pull him in tight. 

“Next time is when things stop being perfect and start being real,” Jensen says, even though he doesn’t want to, swallowing hard against the dryness in his throat.

“It’s been real since the first time I saw you,” Jared says, unwavering as he looks Jensen in the eye.

Jensen kisses him then, just to shut him up, and he’s done that to a lot of people over the years, for varying reasons, but never because he’d believed them.

Damn it.

“I hear there’s also bacon?” Jared asks with a grin when Jensen pulls back. “I mean in addition to the amazing sex,” Jared adds, still grinning, and fuck him for being so adorable.

“Yeah, I’ll make you a plate,” Jensen nods, unable to keep himself from smiling back. It’s really the least he can do. Even if it might be the last thing he does for Jared.

He tries not to think about it too much as he pulls slowly out of Jared, pushing up from the bed and gathering his clothes.

 

*

 

He opens the door of his bedroom to find Chris, Danny, Gen and Misha lodged comfortably on his couch and wing chairs, watching what Jensen makes out as Predator 2 on his TV screen.

“Oh, you’re done,” Misha calls out, and then looks at everyone else. “We can make noise now.”

“Okay,” Chris says, nodding seriously. “But I’m pretty sure we’re never matching Jensen for noise level, just sayin’.”

“No,” Danny agrees, tilting a beer bottle neck against Chris’, “he owns that title. But we can give it our best.”

“Oh. My. God,” Jensen sighs, face falling into one hand. “You’ve…” he gathers strength for the next words lifting his head to look at them, “You’ve been out here the whole time?”

They all toast him with their bottles, and Jensen rolls his eyes downward into acceptance.

“Hey guys,” Jared says, cheerful and apparently either not knowing or not giving the slightest fuck that they’ve been out here listening to them the whole time.

They all lift their bottles to toast Jared, too.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Jared says, directing his words at Jensen, lips meeting Jensen’s lightly, fingers brushing Jensen’s hips before he turns and heads for the bathroom.

There’s a long silence, during which several people die violently onscreen, before the sound of the shower pours out from the bathroom.

“So that was a ten on the noise scale,” Misha says, conversationally.

Jensen doesn’t bother to answer him, shaking his head as he heads for the kitchen.He cooks more bacon, and more eggs, despite that it’s well after one o’clock.

“So you’re not freaking out. You’re good, right?” Danny says, laying a hand against his arm in the midst of turning the bacon.

“No. Not really. But I’ll deal,” Jensen answers, voice tight.

“If you screw this up…” and Jensen hears everything implied by the statement. 

“Are you leaving?” Jensen demands, not looking up from the frying pan.

“Baby, let’s go,” Chris whispers into Danny’s ear.

“But…” 

“It’s time to go,” Chris says.

Danny goes, reluctantly, and Jensen hears Chris lean in, say to her that it’s up to Jensen now. As if Jensen didn’t already know that.

He re-enters the living room/dining area with a plate of bacon and eggs on his arm.

Misha and Gen are still sitting at the coffee table, leaning against each other in a way Jensen’s never seen before. He sets the plate aside on the dining table, and slides in next to Misha despite himself.

Jared emerges from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist as he heads for Jensen’s bedroom, and Jensen wants to follow him so badly, he can almost taste it.

Instead, he focuses on his remaining friends--which takes more effort than he’s maybe ever exerted before.

“We’re going to the zoo,” Misha is saying, smiling as he lays his hand across Gen’s.

“The zoo?” she asks, crestfallen. “But it’s so sad. All those animals crammed into such a small space.”

Misha hesitates, smile falling from his face and then he nods gravely. “I know, right? We’re going there to _mourn_.”

She just looks at him for a moment and then grins, rising from her seat. “All right, I’m in.”

“Have fun mourning,” Jensen mutters out the side of his mouth as Gen walks away.

“Screw you, Jensen,” Misha mutters back, pulling up a quick smile and a wave for Gen as she turns back to look at him. When she’s closed the door to the bathroom, presumably to freshen up, Misha says, with more vehemence, “Those poor animals are _suffering_. And you’re just going to joke about it?”

“You don’t know shit about animals in captivity, do you?”

“Yes… I _do_. And it’s… that’s _bad_ , Jensen.” Misha falters a bit and then straightens the collar of his shirt. “So _BAD_. How can you not know this?” he finally adds, like he’s accusing Jensen of clubbing baby seals.

Jensen huffs out a quiet laugh. “You more than like her, don’t you?”

Misha looks away from him, up at the ceiling, chuckling like Jensen has no idea what he’s talking about.

“You love her.”

“Jensen,” Misha says, like the he’s beyond reproach, carefully arranging his hands on the coffee table. “This is _me_ we’re talking about. I don’t… I don’t more than like her. I barely even _like_ anybody.”

“Except us,” Jensen says.

Misha makes a ‘whatever’ face, and then settles into something more serious.

“I don’t know how to be in a relationship,” Misha says after a long moment. “I’ve never done this before.”

“You’re gonna do fine,” Jensen assures him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “When you love someone, it’s easy to adjust. To go to the zoo in mourning, if that’s what’s required. Maybe you’ll even agree with her by the end of the day.”

“She scares me,” Misha says, shaking his head.

“The ones that really matter always do.” And yeah, preach it, hypocrite. 

Misha bites at his lower lip, looking straight at Jensen. “Does Jared scare you?”

Jensen glances to the side, trying to gather the words. He could deny it, denying it would be easy, but Misha needs to know the truth from him right now. No matter what Jensen thinks could go wrong between them in the future, he can’t lie to Misha. He can’t feed Misha his own fears.

“He scares the fuck out of me,” Jensen says, nodding.

“Then don’t let him go,” Misha says, grabbing Jensen by the jaw and forcing Jensen to look at him, blue eyes steady. “Go right into your bedroom and wake him up all over again the best way possible.”

Jensen just looks at him, feeling like he really understands what Misha’s saying.

“And by best way,” Misha adds with a slow grin and a wink, “I mean blowjob.”

“Really?” Jensen asks, unable to believe that _this_ is what Misha’s got to give him at this point.

“Jesus, Jensen, you _are_ a guy. Have you learned nothing from me?”

The door to Jensen’s bedroom opens as if on cue, Jared dressed in his hastily pulled on jeans, bare from the waist up, and Jesus fucking Christ he looks amazing, from his perfect abs to his defined chest. He runs a hand through his long, wild hair, and then yawns.

“Blowjob,” Misha whispers, pulling away from Jensen.

The door to the bathroom opens then, Genevieve stepping out. “Ready?” she asks with a grin, and the way Misha comes up out of his seat, walking to meet her and take her by the hand—

God, he wishes he was as certain as Misha. Which is _really_ saying something.

Misha grins and leads her out of Jensen’s apartment, giving Jensen one last nod.

The door closes behind them with a click of finality, leaving Jensen staring at Jared.

“I made you a plate,” Jensen says, rising from the couch and gesturing toward the dining area table. Sitting down and watching Jared slides into the chair and picks up the fork.

He just has to get through this part. That’s all. Let Jared eat breakfast and then let him go, and fuck what Misha said. He can let this go and be okay. They just have to get through this (so very not) normal so-late breakfast scene, and then it’ll all be fine.

Yeah. That’s going to work, with Jared cutting him heated looks from underneath his lashes while he eats his bacon and makes the occasional noisy expression of gratitude.

God, Jensen really can’t do this, and screw the part of him that really wants to, anyway, because that’s the stupid part. The part that insists tomorrow will be better than today, that it’ll get even better and better, every day after that.

That’s not how it happens. Not even in romance novels. They always end on the perfect fuck, or the perfect “I love you”. It’s after that when things fall apart. Those are the parts they never tell you about. Those parts don’t make for a good story.

“So,” Jared says, conversationally as he finishes swallowing a sip of orange juice. “This is the part where you regret everything and hope I’m just going to go away, right?”

Jensen’s stunned speechless for a moment, mouth working to say something in response.

“I’ve done this a few times,” Jared nods as if Jensen had spoken, pushing his fork at the eggs on his plate. “Although never with anyone like you.” He settles the fork against the edge without taking another bite, and turns on his chair, leaning across the distance between them to look Jensen in the eye.

“You know…I walked away from you that first night because I wanted it to end on a perfect note; because I thought that’s all we were gonna get. If you think I’m just gonna walk away from you now, when we’ve got a chance at something more, then you _really_ haven’t been paying attention.”

Jensen’s still trying to find words with an incredibly impressive amount of failure.

“There’s a reason I’m still wearing the bracelet you tied around my wrist,” Jared whispers. “And I think you’re still wearing yours for the same reason.”

It takes far too long for Jensen to even find, much less string together the three words he manages to spit out.

“You scare me.”

Jared huffs out a low, ironic laugh, and Jensen can feel Jared’s breath across his lips. “Let me tell you all the reasons I’m incredibly scary.” Jared reaches out, taking one of Jensen’s hands between both of his. “I usually leave my clothes on the floor. I’m terrible at remembering where I left my wallet and keys. I hate paying bills, and I’d totally pay someone else to do it for me if I could afford it. I’m a terrible cook. I can’t stand cats.”

“What are you…?” Jensen starts to asks, mystified, but Jared keeps barreling on right past him.

“I shove the trash down for days until it’s so compacted it’s like pulling teeth to get it out of the can because I don’t want to take it out. Sometimes when I try to sleep, my brain is going a million miles an hour and I can’t shut it off, and I worry that I’m never going to do anything meaningful with my life, that when the next job finishes I won’t be able to find another one. I’m scared that my writing sucks. That you don’t like me as much as I like you. That I’m too intense.”

Jensen just sits there, trying to take all that in.

“I’m not perfect. I’m human, Jensen. I have flaws. I have fears. But the difference between you and me… is I don’t let them get in my way. Think about anything too hard and it’ll fall apart in your head. We’re all kind of crazy, in case you haven’t noticed. It’s sort of a worldwide problem. The question is whether or not you care about me enough—whether or not the good outweighs the bad enough to deal with my particular brand of crazy.”

God.Jensen bites at his lower lip, looking up at Jared. “You sound way less crazy than me.”

Jared shakes his head. “You think everyone doesn’t think that? Sitting here right now, I’m thinking you’re nowhere near as crazy as I am.”

“Really?” Jensen asks, lips parting in a dry smile. “How about this?” He takes a deep breath and then just _says_ it. “I’m… terrified of you. Not because I think you’ll be bad for me… but because you might be _good_ for me.” Jensen huffs out a bitter laugh. “How’s that sound for crazy?”

Jared face softens, hand lifting to touch Jensen’s cheek. “Not half as crazy as you think it does. Not even close to as crazy as I feel every time I look at you.”

God. He… Jared deserves at least as much truth as Jared’s giving him.

“I…” Jensen says, licking his lips, “ _want_ to leave my clothes on the floor, but it’s really hard for me, and I’d probably pick up after you and give you endless shit about doing it. I take out the trash anytime it gets close to the top, so you don’t have to worry about that. Or bills. I pay bills like I’m getting paid to do it. I love dogs. I’m a decent cook.”

“Yeah, that just sounds like you rounding out my flaws,” Jared says with a tight smile. “Although I do love dogs,” he allows with an incline of his head. “But Jensen… this isn’t about that.”

“Isn’t it?” Jensen asks, not understanding. 

Jared looks at him, somber for a long moment. “I haven’t heard or seen a single flaw in you. I mean, you’re scared of getting into another relationship, but that clearly doesn’t bother me or I wouldn’t be here.”

Jensen tilts his head to one side and then nods, smirking.

Jared smirks back for a moment before his expression goes serious, giving Jensen that look that makes Jensen feel like he’s the only thing Jared can see. “You seem… perfect.”

“Really? You have met me and my friends?” Jensen asks, wry. “I _did_ edit your story, right? I’m pretty sure that was me. The grumpy, annoying copy editor, remember?”

Jared lifts his shoulders, mouth pushing outward thoughtfully. “Yeah. But I like that about you.”

Jensen takes a second to let that sink in, and then tells him a quick undertone, “That’s scoring you some serious points, I gotta say.”

Jared smiles with one side of his mouth.

“I…” Jensen starts to say and then stops, licking his lips. “You… I haven’t seen any flaws in you, either,” he finally manages to push out.

Jared quirks an eyebrow at him in surprise.“Seriously?”

“No,” Jensen says, shaking his head and swallowing hard. “You’re… pretty much perfect.”

“Not,” Jared says with a shake of his head.

“Me neither,” Jensen whispers.

“But I think you might be perfect for me,” Jared whispers back, leaning closer to him, and Jensen can feel the heat of his mouth, so close.

Jensen bites at the inside of his own mouth, taking a deep breath. 

“Yeah,” he answers, exhaling the word.

They look at each other for a long moment where Jensen doesn’t breathe again, and then Jensen leans in, pressing his lips to Jared’s. It’s stupid; nothing’s ever as perfect as in his head. Real life is messy, even Jared said so, once upon a time. And maybe real life _is_ messy, but Jensen thinks… maybe for Jared, he can deal with that. He wants to try, anyway. If he lets this slip away… he’ll spend the rest of his life wondering.

But if he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it all in.

_You know this is stupid._

_Go fuck yourself._

_That’s anatomically impossible, you know that, too._

Jensen shuts off his inner voice and rises from his chair, pulling Jared up from his seat, kissing him the whole time, until they’re both gasping and breathless, rutting against each other right there next to the table.

It’s Jared that breaks away first.

“Are you sure?” Jared asks with more concern than Jensen would credit him with at this point. Jared takes a breath, looking at Jensen pleadingly, and then says in a desperate, wanton rush, “Oh God, _please_ tell me you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Jensen whispers, biting at Jared’s lower lip, and he _is_ , he’s so sure. 

And then there’s no time for thinking about how sure he is, because Jared is half-dressed in his empty apartment, looking at Jensen like he’s the only person in the world.

They don’t even make it to the bedroom, Jensen on the dining table, his legs wrapped around Jared as Jared fucks into him, kisses him and teases him within an inch of his sanity, and then pushes him past it, leaving him shuddering and arching against the plate on the table as he comes so hard the world whites out.

He was wrong. The sex _does_ get even better.

 

*

 

If he were writing a story, that’s where Jensen would leave it at the end. But it’s not a story, it’s them, it’s him and Jared, and there’s more that’s worth telling. 

Yeah, he’s a fucking sap, he’s okay with that.

 

*

“Sometimes I worry that I’m never going to write again,” Jensen tells Jared, hours later, both of them sweaty and sated in Jensen’s bed, Jensen running his fingertips through the thickness of Jared’s hair. “That I’m always going to be editing other people’s stories.”

Jared takes in a breath, then another, then asks, “When was the last time you wrote something?”

“A few days ago,” Jensen admits. “Mostly because of Walter and Wilhelmina.” He leaves _and you_ out of the sentence, figuring it’s implied.

“I’d love to read it,” Jared says after a moment.

“Maybe one day,” Jensen answers, pressing his lips against Jared’s forehead.

“I can wait. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” Jared looks up at him, gorgeous face warming with that delectable, adorable smile, and Jensen smiles back, feeling his chest flare with answering warmth.

 

*

 

 

_Six months later_

They’re all gathered on the roof of Jensen’s apartment building under late afternoon sunshine, grill smoking, the scent of barbecue fragrant on the air. 

“My God, what are you doing to that chicken?” Jensen asks, watching Misha try and fail miserably at turning a thigh on the grill. 

Misha shoots him an annoyed expression and continues attempting to flip the chicken. 

“I’m pretty sure tongs aren’t supposed to skewer things,” Jensen adds, frowning in confusion. Misha waves the tongs in a shooing gesture at Jensen. He’s wearing an apron smeared with barbecue sauce that reads “Kiss the Cook” although Jensen’s pretty sure “The Cook is Wasted” would be more accurate. 

“Hey. I know,” Jensen says, snapping his fingers and lighting up like he’s just been struck by a great idea. “Maybe you can _mastermind_ it into turning _itself_ over.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking negotiations may be necessary,” Chris says from beside Jensen.

Chad shoulders past Jensen, moving up beside Misha and taking the tongs from his hand. “Look bro, you gotta get it _around_ the chicken,” he says, demonstrating. “Think of it like a really hot chick; you wanna get a good, firm grip on her before you turn her over and sauce her up.”

Misha’s face lights up with understanding, and then he takes the tongs back, managing after a few tries to turn over another thigh. He shoots Jensen and Chris a triumphant look before he sticks out his tongue at them both. Chad stands by, watching over him, occasionally giving him a word of encouragement.

Misha and Chad had buried the hatchet one night at the bar during a game of “I never” that had ended with Misha and Chad facing off against each other like cowboys out of a spaghetti western while the rest of them made increasingly distressing sex-related statements that left the cowboys not drinking a bit and left everyone else massively drunk and mentally scarred for life. At the end, they’d toasted each other and clapped each other on the back and have been best buds ever since.

Jensen still finds it disturbing, but at least now Chad seems to like Jensen enough that Jensen doesn’t worry about Chad plotting his death anymore.

Now that Misha and Chad have things in hand, Chris and Jensen wander over to the plastic table and chairs they’d hauled up here in spring. It’s technically fall now, but summer seems to be holding on through late September, the air still warm enough to wear short sleeves. Danny and Genevieve are sitting there, engagement ring on Danny’s finger glittering in the sunlight as they go through Danny’s wedding planning folders.

Jensen settles down into a chair across from them, sitting his beer on the table while Chris slides in beside Danny.

“Did you save the chicken?” Gen asks, looking up.

“Your boyfriend,” Jensen says, emphasizing the word because of the way it still makes Gen flinch just a tiny bit, “apparently thought the tongs were skewers.”

“Luckily,” Chris puts in, “ _his_ boyfriend was there to save him.”

Gen grins a little at that, shaking her head and looking in Misha’s direction fondly. “Sometimes I think he’s never going to love me the way he loves Chad,” she says, wry.

Jensen pats her hand in mock-consolation, and then a movement at the edge of the roof catches his eye.

Jared’s head appears above the edge as he climbs the ladder from the fire escape, and then he swings one, long, muscular leg over, setting both feet on the rooftop and holding up two cold six-packs in one hand with a triumphant grin.

Jensen feels his heart swell for a moment, just looking at him, and then they all break into applause, yelling out “more beer!” and then chanting, “beer, beer, beer” for the few seconds it takes Jared to arrive at the table.

“Took you long enough,” Jensen says, voice low as he leans in and kisses Jared briefly on the lips.

“The recycle bin was getting pretty full with empties. Figured I’d take it down.”

Jensen just looks at him for a second, brows rising.

“I know right?” Jared asks, chuckling. “Me, taking out the trash.”

“You _can_ change,” Jensen says, smiling at him affectionately.

“You’re a hell of a motivator,” Jared tells him, leaning to kiss Jensen.

Jensen’s never asked Jared to take out the trash or the recycles in the last couple months they’ve been living together—he doesn’t mind doing it himself. But the fact that Jared’s making the effort for him means more to Jensen than he can say, and he lets that show in the way he kisses Jared back.

“Get a room,” Misha exclaims in mock-disgust as he wanders up to the table, Chad beside him. 

Jensen looks around at all his friends, Danny and Chris with their arms around each other, talking about wedding plans, Genevieve sliding her fingers through Misha’s, smiling as he sits down next to her, Chad sitting down in the chair between Jensen and Chris.

“Seriously. Don’t you two have a room downstairs?” Chad asks, looking amused.

Jensen looks at Jared again, takes in the happy smile on his beautiful face, and feels his chest well with pride, happiness, and love.

“Yeah,” he grins. “We do,” he says, and kisses Jared again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

EPILOGUE

_One year later_

 

They lie side by side in the sand on Islas Mujeres, Jared pressed up against his shoulder, leaning into Jensen, holding his hand the same way he did more than a year ago, and Jensen’s pretty sure he couldn’t be happier—certainly has never been happier than he is right now.

“So, successful writer of children’s fiction, how does it feel?” Jared asks, voice breathy.

“Like it’s not really happening,” Jensen answers. And it’s not like he’s winning awards, but _The Misadventures of Walter and Wilhelmina_ is still selling pretty well.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” Jensen confesses, feeling just as much like an idiot for saying the words as he does for feeling them. But it’s not like he can hold back with Jared, who grazes his chin against Jensen’s before looking at him full on.

“You could’ve. But I _am_ an amazing bonus,” Jared says, lips cracking in a grin.

“And still so charming, despite your modesty.” Jensen shakes his head hopelessly.

“It’s what I do,” Jared agrees with a mock-breezy nod.

Jensen presses his lips together and leans the distance to press them against Jared’s. “I love you.”

“I know,” Jared smiles. “It’s not like I told you that twenty times before you answered me, but you’ve made up for lost time.” 

“It was twice. And shut up,” Jensen tells him, kissing him until he does. Jared feels so good underneath him, more right and perfect than Jensen ever could have imagined the first time they’d been here, and Jensen kisses him until they’re both breathless and pushing their hips into each other, rutting in the sand on the deserted beach until they both come, clutching and clinging to each other.

They lie there for a bit, entwined together under the moon and stars, whispering words to each other that should embarrass Jensen more than they do. It’s not like he can help himself, every time he looks at Jared, touches him, hears his voice.

This is more perfect than he ever imagined in his head.

They walk down to the water hand in hand and wade in until they’re both waist deep, rinsing out their swim-trunks the best they can.

After, on the shore, Jensen looks down at the worn, faded threads of the bracelet still tied around his wrist. “I need a new bracelet. One with brighter colors.”

“Then let’s get you one,” Jared says, and smiles, taking his hand.

 

FINIS


End file.
